


Operation SPIRAL

by Howling_Din



Category: Codename: Kids Next Door
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-12 00:55:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 58,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Howling_Din/pseuds/Howling_Din
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Special Practicable Intolerance Re-Accuses Lies<br/>Following the series' finale, Operation Interviews.<br/>It has been a week since Number One said goodbye to his friends, and left them forever. Now those who remain are left to wonder. The KND have lost their greatest operative, now they will face a new adversary, more dangerous than any they've known.<br/>The future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Operation THE-NEW

**Author's Note:**

> This has been at Fanfiction.net for a while. I'm posting it here now, too.  
> Don't be afraid to feed back. I would appreciate it big time.

Operation T.H.E.-N.E.W.

The

Highly

Expected

New

Entry

Waxes

Boredom was the only thing on their minds. An overwhelming boredom that had long come over every child in the room. Leaving was out of the question. Anything that would be interesting or inspiring, anything that wasn't homogenous to the whole, anything that offended the incomprehensible standards of the overlords who controlled the realm they were in. Wonder, imagination, fantasy, anything childlike, was forbidden by unspoken and rigidly enforced doctrine. Every one of them was subjected to a universe of nothingness possible only to a child. They could not introvert themselves. Couldn't take refuge in their own thoughts. Such a thing was impossible. For they were at the age where their only proper option was to take in the outside world. To accumulate experience. But they were trapped in this place. A place where they were expected to sit, and not stand up, to listen, and not speak, to believe, to submit, to obey.

Indeed, class was in session.

They were all presented with one, uniform option. It was given to all of them without distinction. This option was to commit their brains to something they did not care about, nor knew any reason to care about. Their only incentive for doing this was that they were scored, and made to believe that this score was a measure of their worth.

Why?

Well, they were not expected to ask such questions. So it was that the kids were all subjected to a rigged coin. If the coin landed heads, they got boredom, if it landed tails, they got boredom. They did not like it. But they kept quiet, kept obedient out of a sense of moral obligation. An undeserved, misguided trust toward the adults who oversaw them.

Time slipped forward. The fluorescent lights above their heads buzzed. The scratching of pencils on paper could vaguely be heard. The brick walls around them did nothing, stoically, they refused to bend, refused to break, refused to drop the load they supported.

Refused to sympathize with the kids they surrounded.

Most of the children kept their heads down. It was to concentrate on the papers on their desks, among other reasons. They were resigned to their boredom. Content to just wait it out. They didn't enjoy spending so much time at such a place doing such things. But they saw no other choice. There was nobody they could appeal to or negotiate with. Not good, not evil, not philosophy, not their parents nor their teachers. They were powerless, and did not even have the courage to struggle.

A resounding crash echoed through the classroom. Natural sunlight pouring in. Everyone looked toward the source of the noise to see what had made it. What they saw was an enormous hole in the wall. The new view it presented to the outside was blocked by dust, and a silhouette. The dust cleared, and the silhouette took form.

It was a kid, just like them, and she was standing atop a strange vehicle made of barrels and duct tape, with trash can lids for wheels. The kid had dark skin, and wore a blue shirt with white stripes at the sides, completed by a large, red cap that concealed her eyes. She held an elongated object in her hands of the same architecture as the vehicle. A symbol was emblazoned on this vehicle. Three simple letters:

K.N.D.

The kid pointed the object in her hands upward. It fired a shot into the ceiling. Three other kids, who were similarly equipped, formed into the classroom from the outside to stand in front of the hole in the wall. "Kids Next Door!" Shouted the kid atop the vehicle. The students erupted into applause. At this simple announcement. They stood up and raised their heads and threw objects into the air. "Class is now adjourned!" Said the kid atop the vehicle. The celebration continued.

"No, it is not!" interjected another voice from the back. The students turned to see who spoke, although they already knew who it was. It was their teacher, a middle aged woman. She wore half-circle shaped glasses, and her face seemed to be under permanent tension, one could easily tell by looking at it that she seldom smiled. "Class does not adjourn for another four hours," she continued, indicating the clock on the wall, which in turn indicated the time to be around 4:00 PM.

The kid atop the vehicle leaned back, swinging her weapon around to the back of her head, hanging her arms behind it. "Listen to me carefully, lady." She leaned forward to emphasize her next words, "Go tell the principal that Numbuh Five wants to talk to him."

"This school doesn't negotiate with brat kids." Replied the teacher, her face indignantly scrunched up.

The door to the classroom burst open, several adults came into the room, shuffling past a large crowd of kids who were gathering outside. They looked toward the new hole in the wall, reacting in the manner of someone accustomed to power of a petty nature. One of them stepped forward, his demeanor was serious and dire. "You kids are in a world of trouble, put down those.. things, and come with me, we're going to call your parents." He turned around and walked briskly toward the door, fully expecting the kids to follow.

"No." said the kid atop the vehicle.

The adult turned around and walked up close to the kid, imposing himself on her smaller figure. "What did you just say?"

"I think she wants to negotiate with you." Interjected the classroom teacher. The man turned to face the teacher when she spoke, blatantly ignoring the kid. He turned back, looking downward to face the kid again. "Is that it? You want to have a talk with me?"

"No," replied the kid. "I'm not here to negotiate with you." She lifted her head, revealing her eyes from under her hat. "I'm here to put an end to your tyranny!" When she surveyed the room and spoke, she seemed bigger than the adult, bigger than everyone else in the room. "This school has been terrorizing its kids for too long. Lower its hours and homework load back to reasonable levels. Recess, PE, and all extracurricular activities are to be reinstated. Lunch time is to last longer than two minutes. These are the demands of the Kids Next Door, and if they are not met, we will arrange a boycott of every one of your students by helping them to fake sickness." She grinned, "not one of them will attend your school."

"You little brat!" The principal grabbed the kid, but ended up grabbing nothing. She nimbly jumped downward between his legs, then put her hands on the floor, kicking her feet up into the principal's hiney. He lost balance, and tumbled over, letting out a whine as he fell. The classroom laughed hysterically, as did the kids out in the hall. The kid, who called herself Number Five of the Kids Next Door, stood back up. The three other kids, who had followed her in, formed up around her, blatantly ignoring the uproar. "Alright, guys, let's go over the plan one more time." She spoke to the three of them at once. "I'm going to go for the intercom. Numbuh Two." She said to a chunky boy who wore a flight hat with the number 2 engraved in it, complete with goggles. "You're going to follow me up in the Dasher.* Numbuh Four." She said toward a short kid in an orange sweatshirt, whose straight, blond hair formed a bowl over half of his head. "Take out the faculty. Numbuh Three." She said toward a slender girl in a green shirt with sleeves longer than her arms, whose face wore a constant expression of simultaneous detachment and enthusiasm. "Make sure the way is clear for everyone to leave the school when I give the announcement, chock the doors, and take care of the hall monitors, cause when I give the announcement, the halls will become a madhouse. When that happens." She said to all of them.

"We blend in with all the students and walk right out the front door." Said Numbuh 2

"That's right." Said Numbuh five, "is everybody on with the plan?" They all nodded. "Good, in that case." She pointed her arms diagonally upward. "Kids Next Door, battle stations!"

They spread out, moving with the drive and efficiency of a military unit. Numbuh 2 opened a hatch on the vehicle, nimbly slipping his large frame into the cockpit.

Numbah Four stopped, turning back toward Numbah Five, "Our first mission without Numbuh One.." His voice was very controlled, but his accent was still distinctly Australian.

Numbuh Five took out a pair of black sunglasses, looking at them soberly. "Let's make him proud, Wally."

He nodded in reply, and turned back around. Now wearing a big, giddish smile on his face, he took up a two-handled rifle that looked like

a pump made of joyces, with duct tape at the seams. "All right, you cruddy teachers! Prepare to get pasted to the floor!"

Numbuh Five took a deep breath, she bolted toward the classroom door. Right toward the crowd of kids who were still gathered outside in the hallway. Not slowing down, she fired her noisy weapon in the air repeatedly. "Alright, move! Move aside people! Clear the way!" She shouted frantically at them. It did the trick, they parted to the sides, giving her a wide space to run past them. She struck out of the classroom, running full pelt through the halls. She jumped up, angling her feet backward, they landed on the top of the Dasher, which had come up behind her. The speedy vehicle pushed her feet forward, restoring her balance. "Where to, Abbey?" Shouted Numbuh two from the cockpit.

"Straight ahead." Replied Numbah Five without looking down. "That's why we entered through that classroom, it's at a perfect angle for the all terrain mode."

"Are you sure you want me to do that?"

"I'll be alright."

Numbuh Two paused for a second, "Numbah Five..."

"What?"

"You just spoke in the first person."

The air blew hard against her at the high speed, yet her face suddenly felt hot. She hectically started scratching the back of her neck, in an effort to find something else to pay attention to. "Um, yeah, well, I guess I must be growing up."

"Nah, you're moving on, not growing up."

She banged on the hatch of the Dasher, "Come on, Hoagie, all terrain mode this thing already!"

"Yes, sir!" Said Numbuh Two, smiling to himself. The Dasher fired up rocket boosters at it's rear and picked up speed. Numbah Five tapped the heels of her shoes, and they sprouted tiny, metallic claws from their sides and bottom, which dug into the roof of the Dasher. She bent down, preparing for what was to come. The Dasher leaned back, letting air flow under it's angled belly, this granted it a small amount of lift. Combined with it's light weight and extreme speed, it began to hover over the ground. The trash can lids, which had served as wheels, turned horizontal, becoming stabilizers.

"You've really outdone yourself, Numbuh Two." Said Numbuh Five.

"On the Dasher? Or do you mean your new shoes?"

"Both, Hoagie, both."

"We're almost to the central area," said Numbuh Two, "this area is loaded with booby traps."

"And every one of them relies on pressure pads in the floor, we're fine as long as you don't slow down." They passed by a large concentration of penal rooms, which distinctly contained large blackboards filled with mindless repeats of the same sentences. Some of the rooms even had cots. Numbuh Five sighed, "It's a good thing we came when we did."

"I can't believe they did this." Said Numbuh Two.

"It ends today, we're here!"

They came up on a door, A sign on the door labeled it as the intercom room. As the Dasher closed in on it, Numbuh Five took an object out of a side compartment, it was a school zone sign, freshly picked from the ground. "Pick me up in five minutes," she said to Numbah Two as she threw the sign like a javelin at the door. The sign buried itself into the door, and she leaped toward it as the vehicle veered off to avoid a collision without losing speed. She landed on her feet atop the sign. She was right up next to the door, without touching the floor. She moved her foot to atop the lever knob, turning it open. Holding the knob down, she gripped the door frame and pulled it open. The door swung into the room. Her school zone sign, still impaled in the door, went with it into the room. She spotted the intercom in the back, it would be an easy jump. She hopped on the sign, bending it, then her knees down. She made a leap to the table, flipping and landing on the table with acrobatic grace. She turned to the intercom. "Time to solve everything, as the Kids Next Door always do."

* * *

In a school without freedom. An establishment that had treated it's charges like livestock, like something to only collect more of. A school whose students were subjected to vast amounts of nothing in the name of security. An order where anyone different, anyone who refused to grow up early, anyone who chose to act like a child. Was penalized with boredom and alienated with labels.

The Kids Next Door came to this school.

A message rang throughout the entire building. The children in class had a special place in their attention for a message of this kind. One word was all they heard, all they needed to hear. In a state where their malefaction became unbearable, their childlike spirit railing against it, but held in check by fear and authority. One, simple word, from a child like them, from a source that had once been a linchpin of the authority that oppressed them. Gave them the release, the courage, that they needed.

"Go."

They went. Every last kid, sick of the tyranny of their school, stood up and left. Their teachers could not stop them, as they were out in the hallway, pasted to the floor. The hall monitors were all diverted to the cafeteria, munching on a pile of candy that had magically appeared there. Even the doors stood out of their way. As they crowded out of the school, the intercom spoke again. "When you're outta here, head to the park for your sick kits, you won't have to return until they fix their policy." The kids all cheered, The intercom continued, "The Kids Next Door will see to it that those of you with perfect attendance will not have a blemish on your records. You stayed for more than the full seven hours and that's enough."

As the students all crowded out of the school, one of the children stopped at the intersection just adjacent to the door. She waited, letting other kids pass by her. Another kid, whose motions rang of the same purpose, appeared at the intersection. He leaned against the corner, not talking to the other. Then yet another appeared, she looked at the other two, one at a time. Without saying anything, they all nodded to each other. They walked toward the exit together. One of the kids held a school zone sign slung over her shoulders, she spoke first. "Go on ahead of me, I'll meet you at the treehouse." Understanding that the moment they were in spoke for itself, they didn't reply. They went ahead. Through the doors, the bus train awaited them. It was a massive, yellow machine made up of countless linked passenger compartments. The kids all boarded it, knowing that if they came home on it, their parents would think they didn't ditch school. "All aboard!" shouted Numbuh Two from the engine compartment up front.

Numbuh Five didn't board the train with her comrades and their beneficiaries, She walked to the side along the train. Coming across a narrow post hole, she rammed her school zone sign back into it. She took out a large, red, permanent marker. Facing the school she had just freed, and the sign she had just returned to it, she wrote a new word on the sign. Above the words school, and zone she imprinted the ultimate word of rebellion.

That word, was no.

End transmission.


	2. Operation TATTLE

Operation T.A.T.T.L.E.

The

Aftermath

To

The

Legendary

Earthling

* * *

Easily describable as neatly arranged, there lay an area which boasted planned out and well maintained asphalt roads that formed a seemingly endless web of squares. Parallel to this web was an abstract web of conformity among the residents of this area. This web of conformity was intensified by their close proximity to one another, their habit to constantly socialize. And perpetuated by the neutral, uneventful contentment of their daily lifestyle. It was because of this web, this chain reaction of conformity, that every part of this area became interchangeable on the surface. The squares formed by the linear, intersecting roads were divided into smaller squares of private property. Each of which had one, average sized house in the middle, surrounded by grass. The blocks were at a slightly higher elevation than the roads that divided them. Each block was like an island of grass in the otherwise completely artificial land.

Each section of grass looked exactly the same as the other: thick, healthy, but repeatedly cut to be no taller than a few centimeters. This was due to the residents. When the grass grew, they cut it. When their houses looked worn, they painted them over again. No resident of this place would accept their own small slice of it being any different than the rest. The rest, in turn, wouldn't accept being any different than the rest of the rest. And on it went. This hive trend was ingrained into the minds of the residents. Resulting in the epitome of xenophobia. Different came to mean humiliating. Different meant rocking the boat. Different meant complicated. And complicated was uncomfortable.

If somebody who lived at this place decided to let their lawn grow, or become dry and unhealthy, that constituted different. It meant different if somebody built a home anyway other than the standard. This standard was a wood frame house with shingled roof and plastic siding, no more than two stories tall, with white painted drywall as the walls and ceiling inside. If a home did not meet these criteria, it was different.

If somebody built a house that was tall, and narrow. A house that reached for the sky, then it was different. If a house buried itself, layering its stories downward rather than upward, then it was different. If there was a house made of logs or metal, glass or concrete, marble or stone, polyester or mortar, tact or tinkering, then it was different. And different was unacceptable. Different was thrown and filtered out.

A state of competence and contentment perceived as purity. This place was known as the suburbs.

These particular suburbs contained an anomaly in its skyline; something truly exceptional. It was tall and conspicuous. Varied, and grand in scale, it rose out through the roof of a suburban home like an adventurous spirit breaking free of monotony. It was a treehouse. Segmented and varied, it was matched in scope only by the tree it was built around.

The treehouse was as many. Wherever there be a strong branch, there was a structure built on it accordingly. An uncountable amount of bridges, ramps, and tubes connected the treehouse segments through thin air. But the tree was enormous. It spread up and out, utilizing its monopoly on the local sunlight to the fullest. It had expanded systematically and efficiently. It was a tree that embodied the plant kingdom's variation of ambition to the fullest. The treehouse was limited to what the tree could support, but that was not a real limitation, rather, it was an impossible standard to reach for.

The treehouse benefited greatly from this. It was more than just a house per its name, with its only novelty being the fact that it was suspended in a tree. It was much more than this. It had terraces, which presented a birds-eye view of the surrounding area in all directions. Dozens of rope bridges, which ran through both the clear and bowels of the immense, spherical bush of the tree. They were supported by branches above and below, and had numerous wooden platforms which served as junctions. Walking along them produced the effect of navigating a sizable woodland.

The structures were more than just blank, wooden rooms inside. Some were tall, some were wide. Some had windows, and some had no walls. One of them was gigantic, with an equally wide hole on the side of it that faced outward. This opening was high in the air, only things capable of flight could enter or exit through it. Above this artificial alcove, there were a sequence of small domes, all supported by the same small, but expansive web of limbs.

The hulking prow of a metallic ship could be seen plainly at the center of the branches. Other protrusions included a large cannon-like rod that was mounted on one of the lower structures. And at the center of it all was a tower that rose as the highest point of the whole tree. Its roof was flat with railings along the edges. There was a metal framed glass dome in the middle of it. Atop this dome was a signaling dish that was angled sharply upward, Meant to send and receive signals to and from outer space. An emblem was painted on its central tower. It was three large capital letters; KND.

A young girl stood on the roof of the tower. Her silhouette leaned on the railing, staring meaningfully off in the distance. The sun was low in the sky, its light beautifully tinted. She saw it, but it was not the focus of her attention. She was looking downward, at a pair of sunglasses. She turned them over, and again in her hand. The lifted her head up, skipping the sun to look up at the sky. "Not a day goes by," she said to herself, "that I don't think about following you up there." She kept looking up, intently, focusing. Her neck got tired, she dropped her head back down. It stayed there for a bit.

Then she took a deep breath. She put the sunglasses away, and stood up straight. She rested her hands on the railing. Her posture, standing vertically and resting her hands distanced evenly from each other, produced the effect that she was resting them, not just on the railing, but also the entire treehouse beneath it.

Looking straight over, she at last took notice of the beautiful sunrise. A smile found it's way to her face. "dagnabbit, I've been being way too..." She leaned forward, pushing herself upward from the railing. She put one foot atop it, and pushed herself up to stand straight on it. Not inhibited by the sheer drop right in front of her. She spread her arms out, just as a pleasant breeze hit her. She lifted her nose and took a deep whiff of it. Her shoes dug their claws into the railing, ensuring it wouldn't blow her off balance.

Minutes passed, and the sun rose a bit higher in the sky, quickly losing it's appealing color. Bored of looking at it, she heel-spun sideways and walked along the top of the railing. She felt amazed at how smart her shoes were, that they knew exactly when to grip and when to let go. When she first began wearing them, she walked stiffly and carefully, in anticipation that sooner or later they had to make a mistake, and unexpectedly start gripping when she didn't want them to. But this never happened. Number Two built them, she thought, was he just that good?

Coming to a corner of the railing, she heel-spun sideways on it and kept walking forward with expert balance. Or maybe, her mind wandered, it was because he knew her, extremely well. Her mind began wandering into areas she seldom tread. Her thoughts slipped loose into an area of her mind that she labeled with words like 'embarrassing' and 'yuck' and 'I will never become this.' It began making her head feel harmlessly warm and dense. But her inhibition reared it all back, "no, no, no," she said to herself repeatedly, in sync with tapping both her fists on her forehead. She stuck her face out, slightly but stiffly. "I won't become like my big sister." She stopped, holding still for a long moment. Her face began twitching, "My stupid big sister!" She snapped, "with all her 'whiii'" She made mocking hand gestures to herself, "and all her 'bihhh' and all her 'grrrrr' and all her..."

Her head turned to face left, then it snapped right. She hopped off the railing and ran up to the glass dome. She grasped at the glass with her fingertips trying with deliberate inefficacy to grab and squeeze it. "with all her 'Ooh, guys, guys, guys' that's all she ever thinks about..." Her voice degenerated into annoyed grumbling. She had entered a state of mind in which she was open, expressive, with the things on top of her head. A mindset which was impossible if there were any other people present. Eventually, it all worked its way out of her vents, and she felt normal again.

She heard a sound come from below. She recognized it as the sound of the treehouse's entrance hall being bypassed, in the usual manner.

* * *

Three kids walked up a ramp that spiraled upward. Suspended in the air, the rising walkway presented a clear vantage of all their surroundings. To their right was the open air, to their left, a tree trunk of such a size that it made them feel like ants. As they advanced up the walkway, the chunky Number Two brought up the front, unfazed by the rapidly rising altitude. Number Three was trailing behind him, walking tentatively and hugging to the left, near the tree where it felt safer. Number Four brought up the rear. He walked casually, with his hands in his pockets. His head was fixed rightward, looking out at the scene as he rose up the ramp, and perceiving it for the diorama it was.

A morning breeze made a pass on them uninhibited. They were already higher than the suburban homes that covered the surrounding landscape. The wind spun its directions freely around the trunk of the tree. The kids felt the cold wind, they were up high, and their position presented only two directions to go. Normally these factors would convey a sense of foreboding that would cause them to lose the will to continue what they were doing.

But it was the early morning. They were subject to a unique optimism they didn't comprehend, and never felt at any other time of day. Combined with the fact that what they were doing carried a special sense of purpose. It was something they were each invested to in their own personal way. The height, the wind, the dim daylight, these all became as scenery, spice, gravy that only made them enjoy their simple task even more.

A blast door awaited them at the top of the ramp. A rusty panel could be seen off to the side next to it, it had a small, round slot. Aside from this, there were no other means to interact with the looming door. They gathered around the panel. Simultaneously, the three of them lifted their right hands in a punctual manner. Then, with disciplined motion, they each wielded their hand in a ceremonial set of movements. At the end of it, they rammed their index fingers up their noses and scooped out a chunk of stuff. They each put their stuff into the slot.

The noise of a powerful machine rang out as the blast door came to life. Layer after layer split open in different directions, disappearing into the wall. "Three coming in." announced a booming computer voice as the last layer cleared, revealing a wide corridor with an arch shaped ceiling. Numbers Two, Three, and Four went through the corridor, now side by side rather than single file. The corridor was made of tightly fit wooden planks as its floor, walls, and ceiling. There were seams everywhere, many of them were shaped irregularly for rectangular wooden planks. The corridor was a gauntlet. It was lined the whole span with hidden obstacles and boobytraps that would have activated if the blast door was forced, or more people entered than unlocked it. At the end of the corridor was an upward flight of stairs. At the end of the stairs, a smaller, automatic blast door opened to to the first room of the treehouse. They stood with this door right behind them. To their right was the main trunk of the tree that went through the room. Further to the right, between the trunk and the back wall, there was a narrow opening due to there being no wall, it led to an outdoor deck that went out and disappeared to the left behind the trunk. To the kid's left was a full wall with a disorganized row of doors. Most of the doors were powered, and all of them were shaped like arches at the top. Straight ahead there was a small, half-story high deck with staircases on either side of it. It had a single, powered door up on its level. An extremely wide TV screen was mounted high on the trunk. Two quarter sphere shaped couches were formed around it.

The three of them went straight to the couches, then sat down on them. Number two slouched, with his hands behind his head and his feet on the table. Number three sat up straight, her feet hung off the couch, not touching the floor. Her hands were at her sides, pushing into the cushion. She did not lean back. Number Four had both his arms slung behind the couch, with one leg hanging off the side.

Number Four was the first to speak, "So what are we doing today?"

"I think we should wait for Number Five to get here," said Number Three.

"She's already here," said Number Two, "I saw her on the upper deck when we were approaching the tree." Number Four brought his arms up and leaned forward, "think she's got a mission lined up for us?"

"I hope it's something I can field test my new plane on," said Number Two. Number Four looked toward him, "It's only been a couple days, you've already built a new rig?"

"Well, it's still a prototype, I need to gather data from actual field use to improve it further."

He leaned back into the couch's backrest, then leaned back up again. "Hey, why not pit it against one of your older airships?"

"A sparring dogfight?"

"Yeah!"

"Who would pilot the other plane?"

"Me, of course!"

Number two started absently chewing his thumbnail, deep in consideration. "Have you ever flown before?"

"Nope!"

Number Two put his arms out, "then there's no point. I won't get any worthwhile data from an easy fight."

Number Four stood up, and began pacing with his head bent down. Numbers Two and three watched, interested. Number four hardly ever thought hard about anything, so this was an occasion not worth missing.

He stopped, and turned to face them, "what if I piloted the new model, and Numbuh Two used an obsolete junker? That would even the odds, right?"

Number two lightly slapped his own head, "Number Four, that's..."

Number Four quickly held up his hands, as if to say _hold it_. "Just hear me out, okay? If I piloted it, you would get data based on how I used it. From that, you would make it to be easier for an amateur to use."

"Why would I want that?" Said Number Two flatly.

Number Four pointed upward, "whenever we fly up to the moon base, I see a lot of the same kind of ship buzzing around it. So, I'm thinking that if you made a really good ship that was easy to use, then you could pitch the design to global command, if they accept it, and make it standard issue, then you would be helping operatives around the world by giving them all an awesome ride. Not to mention your name would be on every one they build."

Number Two walked right up to Number Four. He put his hands on the short boy's shoulders. Then his lips parted to uncover his clenched teeth, revealing them to an exaggerated degree. "Number Four, you're a genius!"

Number Four took up a cocky smile, "don't think I don't know it."

"Come on, we're going to the hangar," said Number Two as he walked past Number Four toward one of the doors.

"Wait a second, guys." Said Number Three, "you should make sure Number Five doesn't need us for anything first."

"Yeah, don't go acting on your own, that just doesn't make for good teamwork." The voice was Number Five's. Everybody turned their heads to see where it came from. She was sitting on the couch. They all jumped when they saw her there. It was only a few feet from any of them. Her arms were crossed, and she had one foot over the other on the table. Number Two raised his index finger, "looks like you just pulled an _appearing_ act!" He laughed at his own joke. But nobody else did.

Number Five twitched slightly, "if you guys didn't notice me, how easy would it be for an adult to get the jump on you?" she said scoldingly. They all bent their heads down, feeling slightly ashamed. Number Five sighed, and then stood up, "I'm sorry, guys, I didn't mean to get on your case. I'm just worried that with Numbuh One gone, you might get careless. I just don't want anything bad to happen to you."

"Don't worry," said Number Two laughingly, eager to lighten the mood, "none of us are gonna get chrome domed." Number Five giggled as she bent her head down, her mouth formed into a tense smile "I feel so very at ease now..."

"No, really, it's true," said Number Four, "long as we got you, nothin's gonna ever keep us down!"

Number Three started coming up to her, "aww, gimmie a hug, ya big, sneaky softie!" She raised her arms.

"I'll be there whenever any of you need me." She dodged Number Three's committed hug, causing her to stumble. "But you guys all gotta look after your own selves. I can be your context-sensitive shield. But I can't be your eyes, I can't be your ears, and I can't be your survival sense."

Simultaneously, Numbers Two and Four saluted, "yes, sir! Numbuh Five, sir!" They looked at each other in surprise, then laughed together. Number Three stepped back from them slowly. She turned her head. "so, Number Five, what's on the agenda for today?"

"I'm glad you asked, Numbuh Three." She crashed back on the couch. "We take it easy."

Everyone became apprehensive, "Why no missions today?" Said Number Two.

Number Five waved it off, "I'd get us a mission if I could, but there's nothing going on in arm's reach, and global command hasn't sent anything down. Another day off won't kill us."

Numbers Two and Four grinned at each other. "We'll be at the hangar, then," said Number Two. They turned to leave. "Hold on," said Number Five, holding her hand up without looking at them. They stopped, everyone looked at her attentively. She continued, "there is one thing. It's optional, you don't need to come, but at one O'clock I'm heading up to the moon base."

"What for?" said Number Three.

Number Five paused for a moment, she knew she was stepping on fresh wounds by answering, but they had to come to peace with it sooner or later. "Numbuh One's decommissioning."

"What?" snapped Number Four, suddenly pissed, "why would they do that! He ain't thirteen, and he didn't do nothin' wrong!"

"Calm down, Wally."

"No! He's a darned hero! After everything he's done, I can't believe they have the nerve!"

"Wally," Number Five didn't raise her voice like Number Four, but it still cut him off, "that's exactly the reason they're having a decommissioning ceremony for him. When I reported his disappearance, I couldn't very well tell the truth, so I told them he fell into the giant toilet bowl. And that we searched and searched, but found no trace of him except his shades. Wally," she put her hands on his shoulders, "Nobody but us, and his parents were there when he left us. This is their own way of seeing him off."

"I see..." he calmed down, considering for a moment, "I guess it's fine, then." His face scrunched and un-scrunched. He was looking for words. Trying to get something off his chest. Then he stopped fidgeting and spoke his mind, "why don't we go up there after him?"

Their parting was still fresh in their minds. Number Four was saying what they were all thinking. "I mean, we can never see him again? Are we just supposed to accept that? Why should we? Just because? That's a stupid reason! To the inferno with the rules that say we can't!"

Number Five waited several long seconds before speaking, "I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel the same way..." This is it, Abigail, she thought. You couldn't avoid confronting this forever. You have to be stronger now. You have to be the voice of reason, even if it's unpleasant. She spoke to everybody in the room, including herself. "The Galactic Kids Next Door could be, or not be, anywhere in the entire galaxy. Even if we had a ship that could cover that kind of distance, we wouldn't know where to even begin searching." They all took her words gracefully on the chin. Grimly, they endured its impact. But Number Five continued, "But listen to me. He's up there, fighting the good fight all across the galaxy. And it's our part to back him up here on earth. We may be separate, but we're all still part of the Kids Next Door, and We're all still fighting adult tyranny. In that sense, we're still together, tighter than ever."

She saw their faces lighting back up. Thank goodness, she thought. More than anything, she disliked seeing her friends unhappy. "Now who's coming to his decommissioning? Who wants to see the impact he left here on earth?"

"One O'clock?" Asked Number Four.

"One O'clock." She confirmed.

They all nodded, agreeing to go together.


	3. Chapter 3

Operation T.A.T.T.L.E.-T.W.O.

The

Aftermath

To

The

Legendary

Earthling

Taken

With

Objectivity

* * *

Once upon a faraway place, coined the world over as the moon. There grew a tree. The moon was a place that rejected all forms of life, yet this was a tree that could grow and thrive on it. Built upon the branches of the tree, there was a connected array of buildings which formed a superstructure. This structure was a diversified, airtight mountain range of shining steel towers. It was surrounded and infiltrated by transparent tubes and giant metal rings. They swirled and ebbed around, into and out of the structure, augmenting its sci-fi architecture with chaotic adornment.

This immense building rose out from the thick branches of the tree. Shining as a beacon on the otherwise gray and barren moon. Spaceships large and small swarmed and circled around this tree. The tree house was populated, not by extra terrestrials, nor even cosmonauts, but kids. Willful and courageous, but otherwise ordinary kids. Who, by the power of the greatest truth had overcome conventional law.

They possessed ships that flew with a speed to surpass boredom. Architecture designed with an ingenuity that surpassed status quo. They were all driven by a noble cause, and unified as a single organization. The nature of their cause transcended all forms of controversy or scrutiny. It simply could not be condemned by any reason. Yet still, it was significant.

Just as adult tyranny was a worldwide problem. They, the Kids Next Door, spanned the entire globe In order to combat it. It consisted of kids from every corner of the world, from every culture in the world. Their bases dotted the earth. Every one of these bases was a tree house, there were no exceptions. The KND went so far as to develop a tree that could survive on the moon in order to preserve this tradition.

This base on the moon was the central headquarters for their entire organization. Hundreds of spaceships swarmed about it. It had countless docks, hangars and airlocks through which ships of many sizes and purposes could connect to, or land inside it.

The cloud of spacecraft began to thin. They were all docking and landing at the moonbase.

One spacecraft, which came from Earth, looked completely different from all the rest. It had a long, narrow body. With the wings near the back, angling backward as they went outward from the body. It had two engines mounted on the wings. The ship had no visible cockpit. The entire front was covered with a black nosecone, held to the hull by a quickly but well done duct tape job. A row of sensor prongs were mounted on the front of the hull in a full, even circle, they were pointed straight forward, protruding, but not quite passing the tip of the nosecone.

After clearing Earth's atmosphere, the ship accelerated. It rapidly picked up speed, until it was going three times as fast. It quickly closed in on a group of bulkier, more robust ships, which were also heading to the moon base from earth. The black nosed ship wheeled upside down, going over the top of another ship, narrowly missing it. Then it went under another, effortlessly pulling a full somersault over it. It left the crowd of slower ships behind. It serpentined left and right, it then went up and down, as if testing its own maneuverability. It flew straight again, lowering the throttle on its two engines to near nothing. Top and bottom plates between its wings slid open, they moved forward, sliding under other plates. Two more propulsion engines came out of the new openings. They came out far enough that their exhausts wouldn't graze the main body, then locked in place. The two engines on the wings shut down completely. For a few seconds, the ship remained silent. Then all four engines shot up to full throttle. The Blacknose bolted forward with an enlivening lack of control.

It approached the next crowd of spaceships, which were all faster, higher performance models than those in the previous group. The blacknose passed them by without slowing down. It rapidly made more and more distance from them. They responded to this. With the pilots cocking their heads toward the showoff who passed them. Their fighter craft raised their speed substantially. Some of them deploying supplementary thrusters of their own. They closed in on the Blacknose. The kids in these craft were ace pilots who took the Blacknose showing them up as a challenge they couldn't ignore. Their race to the moonbase had begun.

The challengers quickly caught up to the Blacknose, which moved in front of one of them. It stayed directly in front of it, matching the other vessel in maneuverability and preventing it from passing. Then the Blacknose slowed down, angling itself leftward, as if stuck. The behind ship took advantage of this, it gained speed and turned right to pass. Just as the ship was about to do this, the Blacknose snapped to the right. In a tightly controlled maneuver, it flew a full circle around the other ship. The Blacknose sped ahead, leaving it in the dust.

The racing convoy of high speed ships approached the moon. They came unto another group of slower ships, which were flying within the moon's gravity well. Instead of veering clear of them, the street racers penetrated their formation. There wasn't a single collision, but they left behind a mess of confusion. Abiding by a rule that went unsaid, the racers all lowered their altitude perilously low, flying right above the surface. Every ship in this street race was designed for this kind of thing. They all flew low, having to dodge crater hills and other protrusions along the final stretch to the moonbase.

Every pilot became anxious as the glint of the moonbase became visible on the horizon. One of the ships nicked its wing on the top of a circle shaped crater hill. It span out of control and hit the ground, then it bounced back up, turning wildly, only to be slowly pulled back down by the moon's weak gravity. It bounced off into the distance.

As they got close to the moonbase, they were spotted by the kids in the hangar they were vectored toward. The sight threw them into a panic. They quickly vacated the area, shouting things like, "run!" "Cheese it!" And "oh, dear glob, they're having a race!"

When the racers got close, they all turned their facing around, using their thrusters to counter their momentum. The moon had no air resistance, so they all had to do their own slowing down to avoid crashing. But the race was still on, so none of them wanted to slow down to a level that could be described as safe. The ships all spilled through the atmospheric barrier at close but slightly different timing like a random spray. They all passed with unsettling speed over the columns of docked spacecraft. The barrier that kept air inside the open hangar was their unofficial finish line, so they each slowed down, and began moving around with proper control to find a spot to land.

The hangar serviced a vast number of ships. It's floor was hard as granite, solid black and slightly reflective. The walls were made of the same chrome-like metal as the outside of the moonbase. The opening through which spacecraft entered and exited was a very wide rectangle. But an unspoken rule stated that all rooms have high ceilings, so the hangar ceiling went well above the entrance. It was lined with lights, catwalks and pipework.

After landing, the pilots, who with their tuned, high performance spacecraft all looked the part of pilots, warm jackets, flight hats and all, exited their craft and began gathering in the middle of the hangar deck so they could talk about the race, and maybe argue over who won. As they gathered, another kid approached them. A symbol on the kid's helmet clearly marked him as the hangar's overseer. He angrily threw his arms in the air, "you crazy hotshots!" The pilots chuckled together in response. The overseer continued, clearly upset with them, "you guys came in way too fast." One of the pilots stepped forward, he had a carefree smile, with a piece of wheat in his mouth, "what's the problem, chief?"

The overseer indicated a row of huge metal cylinders near the back wall, "this hangar is full of soft fuel tanks, what if one of you hit one?"

"Well I'd know where I'd strike if I attacked the moonbase," said one of the pilots snarkily. The overseer got more tense, "If the moonbase comes under attack, we close the blast door!" The pilot looked toward the opening, it was as wide as the hangar, that is to say, extremely. "Right," said the pilot, "brilliant! The enemy would only have a tiny, half-hour window to lob a couple fatboys through the opening, yeah, real defensible."

The overseer took out a remote with a switch. With his other hand, he pointed past the group of pilots, toward the opening. When he was sure they were all looking, he flipped the switch. A blast door slid across the entire entrance from right to left, covering it completely in under a second. He flipped it back, and it opened just as quickly, just in time to avoid a collision with a ship that looked like a rigged up school bus which was coming in to dock.

The overseer crossed his arms, holding himself proudly, "I helped engineer Moonbase Zero. When it locks down, it's harder to penetrate than the ancient pyramids in their prime."

The snarky pilot sagged, "well played, monsieur."

The pilot who spoke for the others took the piece of wheat from his mouth, gripping it between his index finger and thumb, "relax, chief, we know what we're doing."

"I don't care if you're confident." He swept his hands over the columns of landed spacecraft, there had to be several hundred in the vast hangar. "It's not just your own ships you're putting at risk."

"Look, chief," said the pilot. He took a deep breath, looking for words, he looked the overseer in the eye, "we were flying up to the moonbase all routine-like, but something came up, and we were faced with a choice." The pilot clasped his fists gently upward, and stared upward, as if reciting an entrancing tale, "and that choice was to ride the rising tide, propelling us into the thick. Or to regret forever..." he looked the overseer in the eye, "the decision not to."

The overseer lifted an eyebrow, "you were provoked into racing someone?"

The pilot snapped his fingers, "yer darned right we were!"

"I'm still going to have to re-"

"Wait, hold that thought," interrupted the pilot as he turned to face the others, "Numbuh Ten-Wings isn't here, did he crash?"

"Yeah, he did, I saw it," said one of them. The pilot turned back to face the overseer, "He's prob'ly real bored out there by now. You mind towing him back here?"

The overseer twitched, "and I suppose you'd also like me to have his ship repaired, on the house!" He said in a sarcastic tone.

The pilot grinned, "really? That would be awesome!"

The overseer took a frustrated sigh, "we're done here. I can't believe you guys are Kids Next Door. Actually, you know what? I can." He turned away from them, back to the hangar he was charged with overseeing. He took out a walkie talkie, "we have a four-oh-one in the barrens. If he wants repairs, charge him for it" The pilots all leaned in, trying to eavesdrop. "Yes, the usual rate... No, I don't want a piece of scrap hogging hangar real estate. If he can't repair it and fly it out of here in four hours, then it's going to the smelter... Our scrap rate is fourty percent market value, pay him that." As soon as he hung up, a towship took off from another area of the hangar. Before leaving, he looked back at the group of pilots, his mood was now peaceful, "and I'm reporting you guys to Numbuh Three Sixty Two." He walked away, and the pilots stood there, frozen like sculptures.

Normally, most kids lacked the diligence, or the attention spans to go out of their way to deliver penalties for minor offenses. But the mention of that number caused that sense of security to blow away from them like hot air. Number Three Sixty Two was the supreme leader of the Kids Next Door. Dreaded and respected throughout the entire organization for being one hundred percent reasonable. Encompassing situations where being reasonable meant having to be judgmental, harsh, or skeptical.

It was a long minute before any of them spoke.

"So, who's staying behind to give Numbuh Ten-Wings a lift? One two three, not it!"

"Not it!"

"Not it!"

"I'm staying, you guys can go."

"What?" They turned their attention to the one who said that, he was twiddling his piece of wheat with his fingers. "You'll get grilled if you stay,"

He smiled in reply, "I'm not afraid of getting a little chewed out."

"But why?"

"I came here to attend the decommissioning of a great operative, maybe even the best on earth, and that's what I'm gonna do."

"He's right," said another kid, "this is only happening once. We can be here for it, or regret forever the decision not to."

The pilot with the piece of wheat made a crooked smile, "took the words right out of my mouth."

They all nodded, agreeing to stay. And now that they had settled what they were going to do about their minor offense, their mood became more at peace. "So," said one of the pilots, "what about that ship that showed us up? Did you guys notice it had no windows?"

"Maybe it was a drone?"

"No way, it flew a circle around me, someone had to be driving it."

"I didn't see it come in, did it crash?"

"Guys!" Shouted the pilot with the wheat, "let's just let mysteries be mysteries. The facts are that that thing came out of nowhere and gave us a great time. Let's leave it alone now, alright?"

* * *

The truth was that the black-nosed ship was landed at the other end of the hangar. Number Five sat in its captain's seat, with Numbers Two and Three manning data terminals. Number Two spun a 180 in his chair. He wore a headset with a microphone. "So, gals, what's the verdict?"

"Incredible!" Shouted Number Three.

"Numbuh Two," said Number Five grimly, "if I learn that it was Numbuh Four in that cockpit, then I will personally declare you a transcended genius from the heart of genius land. This thing flew amazingly!"

The door to the cockpit swooshed open, revealing Number Four coming out. There was another door right behind him, concealing whatever was in the cockpit.

Number Five stood up, "so, Numbuh Four, how'd the new system hold up?" Number four's head angled up, he was grinning ear to ear, "it was the most-"

"Hold it!" Exclaimed Number Two. He turned to Number Five, "nice try, Number Five."

Number Five smiled humorously.

Number Two turned to Number Four, "you can't tell anybody anything about the new system until I get it registered. I don't want any copycats to steal my idea, okay?"

Number Four nodded, "I won't tell anybody."

"Do you promise?"

Number Four put his fist on his heart, "If a man ain't got his word, he's a cockroach."

"Where did that come from?"

"I think he took it from a movie," said Number Three.

"Really? What movie?"

"A movie I liked," said Number Four.

"Works for me."

"Hey, guys!" Said Number Five. She stood next to the door to the exit ramp. When she had their attention, she continued, "we leave together aboard the blacknose some time after the... aftermath. Do what you want 'till then." She disembarked from the ship.

"When's the decommissioning?" asked Number Three.

"In an hour, there's a social gathering before and after." Explained Number Two.

"Then we have time." said Number Three. She came up to Number Four, "do you want to go explore the new moonbase?"

"Go ahead, no-one's stopping you..."

She grabbed his hand between both of hers and tugged on it, "come on, Number Four, please?" She pulled him toward the ship's exit.

He went against her pulling, but only enough that they moved very slowly. "Look, I don't see why you can't just-"

Her face started to get slightly upset, "come on, don't be a party pooper!"

"Alright! fine then..." He said with exaggerated tone.

"Yay!" She held Number Four's hand, and took him out. Number Four's mouth was dejected, but his eyes were smiling as they exited the ship together.

Number Two, now alone in his ship, went over to a part of the floor. He opened a hidden hatch and took out several large, rolled up papers. He stuffed them under his arm. When he was done, he closed the hatch and put the rug back over it. He stood up and looked toward the door leading to to the cockpit, "it works... It really works!" He made a soppy smile of the sort he would never make with other people around. "I'm proud of you, girl, you're my best plane yet." He got down and put his cheek on the floor, lovingly rubbing his hand back and forth on it. "And when I'm finished with you, you'll be the best plane to ever exist."

* * *

Number Five spied on Number Two. She hung in from atop the roof to see through the open door, and saw him getting all lovey-dovey with his plane. She pulled herself back up and walked off the other side of the cylinder-shaped roof. Her gripper shoes made it possible to walk on nearly any surface, no matter how slippery or awkwardly angled. A part of her wanted to laugh her buttocks off at catching him acting that way, but she didn't. She felt that she kind of understood where he was coming from. Having something that you care about with all your heart and soul was a beautiful thing, and she didn't think it'd be cool to make fun of it.

She lifted her head up, "ah, who am I kiddin'?" She dropped on the hangar deck and went around the ship. She tiptoed up its boarding stairs, then walked casually inside, "hey, Hoagie!"

Number Two yelped and stood up straight, leaving his papers on the floor, "oh, h-hey, Number Five, I was just-"

"Just forgot somethin'." She said plainly as she walked right past him to the command chair. "S-so what are you getting?" Said Number Two, eager to start a normal conversation and draw her attention away from what he was afraid she might have witnessed. Ignoring his question, she picked up a long, wide, heavy black bag from next to the chair, and slung it over her shoulder. She walked back toward the door. Number Two was fidgeting intensely. She stopped near the door, turning her head to look at Number Two, "somethin' wrong?"

"No! No! Nothing's wrong," said Number Two as he shook his head and held his hands up, shifting them left and right. "Well, alright, then." She went out the door and back down the stairs. As she walked away from the plane, she felt a giddy gratification of the sort one felt when getting away with a well-landed prank. Though it was somewhat voluntary on her part, she often put up with Number Two's predictable demeanor and cheesy one-liners. She couldn't resist the urge to poke back by making him uncomfortable in return.

She went across the hangar floor, into a tube-shaped corridor.

* * *

Number Eighty Six leaned back on on a wall, surveying the area. She checked her watch, noting that it was about an hour until the decommissioning ceremony. She was in a spot that presented a good view of everything in the frontal lobby of the reception zone of the moonbase. The lobby was a huge, circular dome. A tight formation of transparent tubes came from the ceiling, and penetrated through the middle of the floor. There were holes in them near the floor, where small, furry rodents; hamsters, busily entered and exited, going in all different directions. Some of them used the lobby floor as a shortcut. Every one of the hamsters carried the sense that there was somewhere it needed to be. There were over a dozen corridors linked to the room. More than half of them led to hangars and airlock halls. Crowds of KND operatives were pouring in from them.

Number Eighty Six kept a close watch on all of them. The huge influx of KND Operatives coming to be at the decommissioning was putting her on edge. Anytime someone's eyes met hers, they looked somewhere else real quick. She had a reputation among the Kids Next Door for being a ruthless, bad-tempered attack dog. She was the head of the Decommissioning Squad, an elite unit of the KND who had the unsavory, but important task of apprehending operatives who were scheduled for decommissioning. This happened when an operative turned thirteen, or broke the rules badly enough. If they resisted, the decommissioning squad hunted them down without mercy. She also held the position of global tactical officer, and was Number Three Sixty Two's de-facto right hand.

As she kept on surveying the room, one particular sight caught her eye. It was a girl and a boy walking together. They were coming from the main hangar. Number Eighty Six recognized them as Numbers Three and Four of sector V. Number Three didn't seem upset or uncomfortable, in spite of being in the company of a boy. Number Eighty Six took exception to this. How could she? She thought. How could a girl possibly act all cheerful, and happy, and totally not perturbed with that... that _boy_ tagging along? The two of them were in the same sector, sure, but that didn't mean they had to get along. She didn't understand it. She had no intention of trying to understand it. It was none of her business. Witnessing it annoyed the filly out of her. And so she decided to tail them.

She watched them pass by far to her left. She noted that they didn't notice she was watching them. They were heading into a corridor, the entrance of which was just out of her eyeshot. She followed. As she walked along next to the wall, she noticed a snack bar built into the wall on her left. She stopped at it, figuring she had to let them get some distance, lest they suspect something. As she looked at what they had, she noticed a hamster on the counter. He was sitting up, looking upward. Three identical pebbles lay on the counter next to him. The pebbles were shaped like rounded, but still thickly proportioned discs. They were perfectly smooth. Pieces of copper shaped like the letter U were clamped flush around their outer edge. Each copper U began at the top of the pebble, getting thicker as it approached the outer edge, then it made symmetry as it thinned back out on the way to the bottom. Each pebble had nine of these U's, spaced evenly around the entire disc shape.

The shopkeep came out from the back room. He came up to the counter and leaned on it, locking his elbows. He looked down at the hamster, "what'll it be little guy?"

The hamster pointed upward past the shopkeep's head. The shopkeep lifted his hand up behind himself, putting his hand under a small sack of sunflower seeds, which was hanging on a line. He lifted his eyebrows, and the hamster nodded in reply. The shopkeep pulled on the end of the string lining the sack, and the knot came undone without effort. His outstretched arm carried the sack over in front, laying it on the counter, "that'll set ya back three plates, lil' guy."

The hamster gripped the end of the string in its mouth, dragging the sack away. It left the three copper-augmented pebbles on the counter. The shopkeep scooped them up in a smooth, singular hand motion. He walked over to the far end of the counter, inserting the pebbles into the biggest slot of a metal box with three rectangular slots. "What'll it be, ma'am?" He said to Number Eighty Six without looking toward her. She pointed at a large bag of potato chips, "I'll have that."

"Eleven plates." Said the shopkeep as he walked over to it.

"Fer a bag o' taters? that's highway robbery!"

"It's supply and demand, ma'am. Take it or leave it." Said the shopkeep in a friendly tone as he set the bag on the counter.

She wanted to haggle, but also didn't want to let her mark get too far ahead. She dug into her bag and took out two pebbles. One of them was brown, with copper braces like the ones the hamster had, but the other was smaller, it's stone was clean white, and it had silver rather than copper. Number eighty six put them on the counter and took the bag of chips with the same hand, then she walked off, all in one calm, industrious motion.

The shopkeep scooped up the plates as she left the counter, "have a nice day!" He called after her as she left.

She rounded the corner and walked briskly down the corridor she saw _them_ go. As she walked, she imagined what kind of inconsequential, but still unacceptable things they might be doing in correlation with one another without her watching. That it was none of her business meant nothing to her. Interactions between a boy and a girl had but one, precise way it could be done properly, and unlimited ways it could be done wrong. This made it almost a guarantee that the situation needed her to be there to observe and scrutinize.

She popped her bag open and began snacking on the chips within, one at a time. She advanced through the corridor, keeping her eyes peeled. She became anxious, afraid they might have slipped past her grasp. The corridor ended, widening its way to a view of enlivening open space, visible above, to the sides, and diagonally downward, an expansive, transparent globe housing a cluster of platforms. Number Eighty Six crossed the catwalk, it led to a wide platform in the center of the dome. She went across the platform, shifting and maneuvering through the moving crowd of kids. She stopped at the edge of the platform. An inconspicuous, narrow pedestal became visible as she got close to it. The pedestal had a single, solitary button on it. She gripped the button and pulled it out. A huge fishhook fell from above on the end of a rope. It ran out of slack just before hitting the ground, causing it to bounce and sway. Number Eighty Six grabbed the rope, then lifted herself up to stand on the fishhook.

The spot was out of the way, and the platform was really just a junction; a transitional walkway, where everyone was heading straight across to a specific destination. For these reasons, nobody took particular notice of what she was doing. After a few seconds, the fishhook lifted up, taking her with it. As her altitude increased, she surveyed the platforms, looking for her target. She spotted them on a high platform loaded with cafe tables. The platform had booths built into a wall rounding the back half of its outer perimeter. They appeared to be selling pizza, fries, soda, and weaponry. The dome wall started becoming narrow, signifying she was nearing the top. The fishhook took her through a hole barely wider than itself. She came through a hole in the floor of a small platform. The platform had a round couch going around its perimeter, facing inward. She went to the couch, putting her knee on the seat to lean over the edge. She looked down at the cafe/weapon shop platform. She had to pinpoint both target entities in order to assess the situation.

She affirmed their location. They were sitting together at one of the tables. Number Eighty Six picked a chip from her bag and put it in her mouth. Her hand went down for another chip, inserting it into her mouth just as she swallowed the previous. As she watched them, she noted they were talking. She squinted, seeing if she could read their lips. She couldn't. She watched Number Four with particular scrutiny, as he was a boy. Boys, she thought, they had all the same things as girls. Same feet, same hands, same noses, same two eyes and ears. They breathed the same air and ate the same things. But it was all a lie, a lie! They were different. They were unstable. And they had to be controlled.

She rammed her hand into the bag, angrily eating her chips by the fistful. She watched them harder, hoping Number Four would do something slightly out of line so she could get angry at him. She spotted movement. Number Three got up from the table, heading toward the food stands. She must be going to order their lunch, thought Number Eighty Six. Just as well she be the one to do it. The stupid boy might forget what she wanted if he did it. She looked back at Number Four, and spotted him also getting up from his seat. Then he moved sneakily toward the stairs, stopping to look quickly back toward Number Three. When he was sure she wasn't looking, he went down the stairs. Then he moved hastily through the crowd on the main platform, heading the direction which would be to Number Eighty Six's left.

She stood up, leveling a look of judgment at Number Four that he couldn't possibly see. She felt like a vigilant sheriff who just spotted shenanigans. She would react appropriately, and ride her horse hard to run down the culprit, with extreme prejudice. She backed to the middle of her platform, turned left, then bolted. She met the circular couch with a running jump, pushing off the top with her foot and flying off the edge of the platform. For several long seconds, she was completely airborne. She landed on a slide that came out of the wall. She rode it through the dome wall into its own outside tube. Then it veered right, angling into another building. The slide ended right after entering the next room through the wall, dumping her over the floor. She landed on her feet, her knees buckling. She pushed herself up and kept moving without any delay. She walked forward, angling right. She moved through the room with detached concentration as if in a trance. She came in front of a corridor entrance, standing in front of it and ignoring the mass of kids moving around her. She stared down the corridor, spotting Number Four as he came through it. He was oblivious to her standing plainly in front of him. His hasty walk took him to the end of the hall, right in front of her. "Number Four!" She shouted in a loud, angry tone.

Number Four jumped, and panicked slightly the instant she began yelling at him. He frantically looked left and right, stopping at looking at Number Eighty Six, "N-Numbuh Eighty Six? Whatever it is, I didn't do it!"

"Number Four," her voice didn't become any quieter, "whaddya think yer doin'?" It didn't matter that her question might give away she was spying on them. She was known for behaving irrationally, this reputation was a perfect camouflage for confronting him on what he was doing.

Number four scratched the back of his head, thinking. "Ah, well... I was just going to the bathroom is all."

Number Eighty Six made a small, crooked smile that entailed satisfaction. She immediately hid her smile, giving the boy the stink eye. "That's a good boy. You head on back now."

Number Four obeyed, as he turned and walked away, his head snapped back to glance at her a couple of times, "girls, workin' in packs..." he muttered.

Number Eighty Six didn't stop to feel gratified about what she did. She liked to see herself as constantly busy correcting wrongs. There would be plenty of time for rest later. She checked her watch, noting it to be another half-hour until the decommissioning event. Being the head of decommissioning, she had to be there when it started.

She spun around and began walking. She decided to go early, speculating that Number Three Sixty Two might need her for something, especially with the moonbase being unusually crowded. She walked with a slight swagger, roleplaying a sense of self importance.

* * *

Number Five didn't know her way around the moonbase. But she had time to kill, so it worked out fine. She decided to take the chance to explore the new moonbase. Not long ago, the KND moonbase was destroyed as part of a desperate, last ditch attack by the KND in a battle against against an evil tyrant. A battle they ultimately won. Afterward, the KND built a new moonbase, bigger and more advanced than the old one. The new moonbase, named Moonbase Zero, felt as labyrinthine as it was vast. She passed by countless intersections, none of which had proper directory labeling. She speculated that people just got used to it. It would definitely confuse the enemy, she thought to herself, if this moonbase ever came under attack. She decided to go straight on all of them. The corridor she followed wound slightly uphill. She had a good feeling about it.

She came to a section where the right half of the corridor was transparent. It presented a great view of other sections of the massive structure. It was like a city straight out of a high budget science fiction movie. Tall, thickly grouped spires shot out from the thick foliage of the titanic alien life form which served as the moonbases' tree. Dozens of spacecraft flew toward, away, around, and between the segments. A wide saucer, that looked like a life-sized 70's alien movie prop was mounted atop the highest point of the moonbase. Its purpose was anyone's guess.

Solid, transparent tubes entered, exited, and maneuvered around the structures in an unplanned, chaotic arrangement. Hamsters could be seen using these tubes to get around. Hamsters were the unsung workhorses of the KND. They needed to be able to get to places they were needed quickly. Thus, the tubes. Sometimes these tubes passed obliviously through rooms and corridors. She speculated that even maximum security areas sometimes had hamster tubes showing in their walls, ceiling, or floor.

She came to a large, open room. It was lined with rows of benches. There were numerous other corridors linked to this room. It had huge windows that comprised outer walls of the structure as a whole. Hamsters scurried freely along the floor. And the place was packed with people. There was some indoor vegetation, as well as a snack bar built into the far window, it's box visibly protruded into outer space. Kid and hamster alike obtained stuff at it.

Number Five spotted one group of kids that stood out from the rest. The rest all looked like normal KND operatives, meaning they were either dressed casually or armored to the teeth. But these other kids were dressed formally. There were six of them, only one of them was a girl, and they all wore extremely fashionable black suits. They kept to their own circle, and didn't speak to anyone else. There was no clear signal that they wanted to be left alone, but other kids kept their distance nonetheless. There was a subtle air of dormant, consequential hostility about them. Number Five didn't recognize them at all. She decided to just pass them by. When she walked by, heading to the next corridor, one of them spotted her. She expected he would just let his attention pass over her, but when he saw her, he started walking toward her. She stopped, watching him from the corner of her eye as she let him approach. He stopped near her, looking her straight in the eye. She faced him directly. "You Numbuh Five, of secta V?" He asked, his voice making an effort to sound wispy. He had an Italian accent.

She nodded in reply.

He smiled, showing his top teeth. It was not a real smile, but it carried extras. His facial expression implied he knew exactly what a fake smile was, and that he didn't expect the other person to believe it was real for a second, making his fake smile actually seem friendly in a unique way. He extended his hand, "it's an honor to meet you. I'm Numbuh Second-Born, head o' Sector SICI."

She brought her bag off her shoulder, switched hands, and slung it over her other shoulder. She took his hand and they shook in greeting, "never heard of you."

"We don't get out much, but I'm sure you actually have heard of us."

"So what's with the Don Corleone impression?"

He put his hand on his chest, "he is my personal idol. That is a conviction I cannot reserve."

"So your other guys..?"

"Not Sicilian, no."

"So SICI doesn't stand for Sicily?"

"It stands for Secretively Impressionable Counter Intelligence."

"So you're ghost operatives?"

"Of a sort, sure."

"So then why are you telling me this?"

His smile came back, "our existence isn't a secret, just the fact that we're normal kids," his face became more attentive, "and not nightmarish abominations from the darkest recesses of the human soul."

Number Five suddenly felt a compelling urge to change the subject, "so what are you guys doing here?"

He spread his arms, indicating the crowd, "KND operatives from all kiddom have come, of their own will, to attend the decommissioning a great kid. My team and I have come to pay our respects as well."

It felt strange, having her close friend being talked about that way, "I had no idea he would affect so many people."

"You knew him personally, so that's to be understood. The accomplishments of Number One and his team are insurmountable." His smile disappeared, and was replaced by a real one, "you guys are heroes. And now, one of you is gone. Do you know what a hero is, when he's no longer among those who still dwell on earth?"

Number five enjoyed questions like this. She thought for a moment, "a constellation?"

He nodded, still smiling, "a legend."

"A legend..."

Number Second-Born looked over Number five's shoulder, and saw something that made him flick his eyebrows up, "I gotta go, it's been nice talking to you."

"Yeah, likewise."

He walked past her right side, his team following. She turned her head and eyes to look backward, and saw him looking toward something directly behind her. "Sir," he said as he nodded lightly toward this person, passing it by. Number Five's stomach felt like sinking. Standing behind her was the one person she hoped not to run into. She steeled herself, then turned around to face her.

The helmet was the first thing one noticed when looking at her. It was stainless steel, probably fashioned from a piece of kitchenware. It would be commonplace, but for two imposing blades that curved up symmetrically from the front. Straight, neatly arranged blond hair fell out from under it, reaching to her shoulders. She wore a blue jumpsuit, and a loose, orange sweatshirt over it. Her posture, and usual facial expression were typical of a kid; easygoing and detached from anything that wasn't the primary focus of her attention. But these expressions were constantly beset with method and deliberation, evidencing an exceptional intellect.

Nobody else in the room was looking in her direction. In spite of the room's surrounding, interchangeable viewpoints to the outside. Which meant they all noticed she was there. This kind of thing tended to happen wherever she went. If presence was gravitational pull, she would be the sun.

"Number Five," she said to Number Five with a tone of voice that made it mean the same as hello. Her demeanor was genuinely friendly, yet she still somehow made Number Five feel pressured when she spoke to her. Number Five's first instinct was to salute her, but her very next instinct was to always appear laid back, so halfway up to her head, her hand instead went to the back of her neck, itching it. "Hey, Numbuh Three Sixty Two."

"Are you occupied with anything?"

"Nah."

"Great," she turned around, looking back at Number Five, "walk with me."

She went along, following her, then quickly catching up to her side, "so... what's up?"

"I want to show you something really cool."

Number Five felt a growing paranoia. When Number One left, she had to omit things in her report to cover up what really happened. Falsifying a report was against the rules big time. Maybe, she thought, Numbuh Three Sixty Two was taking her to be interrogated. No, no, she rationalized. She wouldn't jump to conclusions, or do something without evidence. Number Five decided to just act as though everything she said in her report was true. As they walked through the hall together, Number Three Sixty Two was the first to speak, "Do you play chess?"

"Once in a while, why?" What's this? Thought Number Five. Casual small talk? She at least expected questions about her vague report on Number One's disappearance. It wasn't like her to just overlook something like that.

"Are you good?"

"The best in my school." "I'm at a loss for challenging opponents. We should play each other some time, oh, left." She said as they came up to an intersection.

They went left, and the corridor started winding upward, getting steep.

"Numbuh Three Sixty Two?"

"What is it, Number Five?"

"This decommissioning, was it you?"

"I ordered it, yes."

This was confusing, thought Number Five, it was as if somehow, she knew for certain he wasn't coming back. This is it, thought Number Five. She had to act like she told the whole truth in her report, "but why? It's only been a week, he might come back."

She sighed, "Abby, I didn't want to confront you on this. You wouldn't keep a secret without good reason. But there's only one part of your report I believed for certain was true. One single sentence, you said: I doubt he'll ever return. You used those exact words, and they were more vivid than the rest of your report. And that's how I knew they had to be a blatant lie, or the certain truth."

Number Five shut her eyes, "Look, Rachel, I ca-"

"But don't worry about it, Abby," she put her hand on her shoulder. Number Five looked at her, and she was smiling, "I said I wasn't going to confront you on it, and I mean it."

"But why?"

"You and Number One are close friends. And now he's disappeared in a manner that, for some reason, you can't reveal. Asking you to reveal it might be asking you to betray him. And I won't do that. I don't need to. I don't know why you're covering this up, but I'll make sure you don't get any heat for it."

"Thanks a lot, Rachel, you've taken a huge load off my mind."

They reached the end of the inward-spiraling corridor, emerging to another huge room. The wall ahead of them was a transparent half-cylinder that was at least ten stories high. It served as an alcove for an open tower of platforms. Number Three Sixty Two led them in front of a bench on the ground floor beneath the platforms. They stood at the edge, adjacent to the giant, cylinder-shaped window. Through the window, they could see a heavy concentration of the moonbase tree's foliage. Within the foliage, a statue could be seen. It was a depiction of Number Zero; a kid of mythical renown who founded the KND. "One of my favorite spots," said Number Three Sixty Two, "it's a beautiful view, isn't it?"

"Is this the place you wanted to show me?"

"Oh, no, I just..." she stepped backward, and sat down on a bench, "need to gather my thoughts, you mind waiting?"

"No, not at all. I was planning to just aimlessly wander around anyway." She saw her sitting on the edge of the bench, her head was bent down, and her eyes shut. It just occurred to Number Five that she practically lived at the moonbase, "hey, just out of curiosity, where do you sleep?"

"In my office, on the rare occasion that I have time for it."

"You don't get to sleep much?"

"The supreme leader has to be available whenever anything comes up. And considering we span the entire globe, that's all the time." She leaned back, her eyes still shut. "Did you know that it's always daytime on one half of the world? I mean, that's common knowledge, but when I first started this, it really slammed home in a new way for me." Number Five sat down next to her, placing the black bag on the floor.

She opened her eyes, and grinned, "last time I slept for more than a few hours, it was chaos."

Number Five made a crooked smile, "how could you possibly wake up after only a few hours?"

"If I told you, I'd have to trust you to keep it a secret."

"Coffee, right?"

She replied by staring at Number Five blankly.

"You don't want to get hooked on that stuff, it's adult turf."

"Hey, hey, hey," She put her finger up to Number Five's face in friendly confrontation, "remember this. There isn't a single thing in all existence that's the exclusive domain of adults."

"I've had experience with coffee. It keeps you awake well enough, but it doesn't actually make your fatigue go away. When was the last time you actually slept?"

"Eighty one hours ago."

"What! That's more than three days! And you stopped at a bench, to take a rest? Not drop into a coma?"

"I'll be alright. I need to be at the decommissioning."

"You have unreal endurance... Wait, so you haven't slept since that mission?"

"Which one?"

"Three days ago, you personally led a team to investigate some big lead, but it was a trap?" Inquired Number Five in a reminding tone.

Number Three Sixty Two rested her forehead on her hand, closing her eyes, "Sorry, this past week's been kind of a blur, there's all kinds of rumors surrounding that, what did you hear?"

"I heard that the false info came from Father, and he was waiting for you."

"That's true. We were caught unprepared, and didn't have a chance of winning."

"And then you attacked him alone, ordering the others to run while you bought them time."

She laughed, "I like this version, keep going."

"Wait, what really happened?"

"I lashed out at him in frustration, and my team ran away like chickens."

"Wow, that's..."

"More realistic?"

"Yeah."

"So, continue with your version. What happened next?"

"We all thought you were captured. Man, I ain't never seen Numbuh Eighty Six and Patton so ticked. They planned a rescue operation that involved all the firepower they could mobilize, and being sure to wipe Father's mansion off the map before they were done."

"You were in on their plan?"

"I volunteered to do the sabotage run."

Number Three Sixty Two sighed, "then it's a good thing I wasn't captured, and came back a day afterward, before they went ahead with it."

"Having a good motive to go gunning for Father is a good thing. I don't get what you mean."

"I mean they were going to fight angry. It doesn't matter how much strength you muster, if your attack is predictable, and slow to come, it will be easy to defeat. That operation could have easily ended in disaster. Especially against a dangerous, intelligent adversary like Father."

"Rachel, I don't enjoy insults, but you're acting like a stiff."

"Am I? Numbers Eighty Six, and Sixty don't want missions to go badly any more than I do. If someone on my side does something unwise, I ought to call them out on it. It's constructive criticism."

Number Five stood up, "but it was to rescue you. They were gonna do it because they cared about you."

"Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for what they meant to do. But it was still a bad call." She stood up, facing ahead. She looked at Number Five sideways. Her fatigue had disappeared. "First and foremost, I'm the one who keeps them organized, and their friend only after that's been seen to."

Number Five lifted an eyebrow, "fair enough, you ready to show me this place you were talking about?"

"Sorry, I'll have to show it to you later, The ceremony is scheduled to start soon. I need to be there some time in advance." She turned to walk off, then looked toward Number Five, "do you know your way there?"

Number Five put her left hand behind her neck, grinning sheepishly, "maybe I better follow you."

She walked away, "you'll be early, but that's your choice."

Number Five picked up her bag and followed, "you know, you could just let Numbuh Eighty Six handle it, decommissioning is her domain anyway."

"No, I called for his decommissioning. Before his thirteenth birthday, and by no violation of the rules on his part. Some kids might be here for it because they feel outraged."

Number Five looked away, "that's entirely possible."

"I need to be there to own up for my decision, and explain my reasons to everyone. I can go a little longer without rest."

"Alright, but you better get some sleep after this."

She grinned, turning around to walk backwards and look directly at Number Five, "oh, hello Number Eighty Six, I thought I was talking to Number Five!"

"Well I'm glad to hear somebody up here's makin' sure you don't kill yourself."

She turned back around, walking forward again. "She can be a little... smothering, but I have to do things this way. Global command is very high maintenance."

Number Five sighed to herself, she didn't know what it was like, but she felt like empathizing. The position of supreme leader of the KND wasn't coveted by anyone in the slightest. It was an extremely tedious, stressful job that called for being accountable for everything. A level of responsibility that a normal kid would reject outright. And yet Number Three Sixty Two actually wanted the job. For reasons Number Five could only guess were something between extreme dedication, mild insanity, and the cool helmet. "Well, if it's any consolation, Rachel, I'm happy I'm not the one who has to do it."

"Gee, thanks," she replied in an exaggerated tone.

"But even without Numbuh One, Sector V will do its part five-fold on the field."

"I'm sure you will, you guys did an incredible job at Bargate Academy. How does it feel, being leader of sector V again?"

"Pretty easy, we all know each other real well."

As they walked together, they came past a section of the corridor that was exposed and suspended betwixt two separate structures. It had transparent walls and ceiling. There was a sign on the overhead wall of the next building. It read: "A;RZ-F:AT." Number Five had no idea what it meant, "hey, Rachel, what does that sign mean?"

"It means we're heading from 'area; reception zone' to 'facility: auditorium.'"

Number Five frowned with thought, "I'm just gonna assume that makes sense to you."

She laughed, "you just get used to it."

"Hey, uhh..." Number Five scratched her middle brow, looking for words.

"What is it? Please, speak your mind."

"What is your reason? For having Number One decommissioned, I mean."

Number Three Sixty Two stopped walking, her expression serious, "I'm doing it to turn him into a legend, to make sure that his passing isn't anonymous." Number Five stopped walking as well, and then she continued speaking. "Decommissioning is irreversible, the code module never accepts the same DNA twice. If he's never going to come back; no longer an active operative. Then we'll have to remove him from the registry sooner or later. And I would prefer it be a time when the memory of everything he's done is still fresh on everyone's mind."

"You really thought this through, didn't you?"

She brought her fist up, directing it at the empty space in front of her, "if a hero goes out, he goes out with a bang. Number One is going to be remembered for what no force on earth can deny he was; a hero."

Number Five rubbed her face in a single, hard motion, "This is more than just the mystery of his disappearance. You seem to have some other motive."

Number Three Sixty Two backed up to lean on the transparent wall as she closed her eyes. "Number One was a romanticist, who believed in legends and fantasy. Things that I'd always been skeptical of, and by extension didn't believe in. But eventually," her eyes opened, "his way won me over. I've done nothing wrong, but my pride demands that I still compensate in some way."

"Why would you want to make up for something that wasn't bad?"

She shrugged, "it may not have been bad, but it was still a flaw; a lack of progress, on my part. He believed in the myth of Number Zero. And I didn't, yet..." She crossed her arms, "even if it hadn't turned out to be true, I acknowledge that he would have still been in the right to believe in it. And now, in turn, I'll play the romanticist who believes in the myth of Number One. It may not seem like it now, but after some time passes, everyone's memory of him will become less of Number One the person, and more of Number One the abstraction. All his accomplishments will be remembered under his name, and people will fill the details with their imaginations. A legacy that kids, teens, and even adults will be able to take into heart."

"And yet you would still be just as green in the world, and in your own mind, if you didn't bother to do this, so why?"

"If you want the complete truth," she looked Number Five straight in the eye, and then stood off the wall, moving right next to her, "I'm using him, Abby. Like a tool, like a chess piece," she held up her thumb and index finger, moving them as if she were twisting a narrow knob. "Morale is a very powerful thing, and I'm squeezing him for it for all he's got. Do you find that objectionable?"

Number Five took a grim, frozen expression, "Rachel... I can't believe you." She looked Number Three Six Two straight in the eye, "in my book, you have got to be..." Her face became elated as she shook her head, "the best leader the KND has ever had."

"You don't...?"

"Take offense? Heck no! You're amazing!" Number Five put a hand on her shoulder, "you try to hide it, but I know his being gone has been hard on you, too. But you're capitalizing on it, making the decision that benefits us the most. You're wasting no time attending to the future, while everyone else has their mind on the past."

"You don't care that I'm mucking with the memory of your friend, for reasons that aren't even personal?"

"Numbuh One would have done anything if it meant helping the Kids Next Door. And as for my feelings, well, I kinda like the idea of him goin' down in history, and I think that what you're doing is necessary for that."

"Necessary? I thought I was just speeding up the process."

Number Five shook her head slowly, contemplatively, "I don't think so. A dead hero needs a chronicler in order to evolve into a legend. Achilles woulda been nothin' without Homer."

"Dead hero..?"

Number Five slapped her forehead, "ah, shoot."

Number Three Six Two turned around, facing away with her face not visible, "Abigail, is he really..?"

"Look, Rachel, I can't tell you anything about it, I'm sorry."

"If you think it needs to be kept a secret, then... I trust your judgment." She took a deep breath, then indicated a fork straight ahead, "we split up here, this is the auditorium area. You'll know the entrances to the main when you see them. I am to use a different entrance."

Tentatively, Number Five turned to leave.

"Number Five."

Number Five turned back to her. Her back was still turned. Her right hand was over her left arm, squeezing the sleeve, "Abby, if you could just tell me one thing."

"Yes?" Said Number Five.

"Is he okay?"

"...Yes."

Number Three Six Two let her hand drop. Saying nothing, she began walking away. Number Five was confident in her ability to sense things other people kept reserved. And she held to the belief that you should go out of your way to address these subtleties, even if you might be wrong, or didn't feel the time was right. Because that was the only way it would ever be brought to light. "Rachel!"

She stopped, "yes?"

She mustered up her nerves, mentally preparing for what she had to say. "Did you... like him?"

She turned her head back, her face was blank, yet it made a gentle, dismissive effort to appear lighthearted, "does it matter?" She walked away, "He's no longer a person, but a story."

* * *

Number two had two objects gripped between his teeth. The first was thin, and metallic, the other, thick and soft. He was on his back, facing upward. His arms were up in a narrow hole, working things he couldn't see, and didn't need to. A thick, green cord accompanied his hands into the hole. He pulled one hand out, taking the piece of metal from his mouth. He then put his hand back into the hole. He was now free to chew on the thick, soft object in his mouth. He advanced along its length with determined chewing and swallowing. After fiddling with objects in his hands he couldn't see, he moved his right hand, gripping a handle with a trigger, to a spot he couldn't see. Then he pulled the trigger, feeling a hard recoil. A thin, solid stream of fluid came pouring out of the hole.

Ignoring it, he took his hands out. His right hand held a gun-like tool on the end of the thick, green cord. He set it down where it was comfortable to let his hand fall. He grabbed and pulled the surface right above him, sliding out on the wheelboard he lay on. He got up on his feet. The soft object he held with his mouth wanted to slip out. He caught it with the hand that seemed cleanest, pushing what remained of it into his hungry mouthhole. He looked up at a huge digital clock built into the upper wall of the hangar, noting it to be about twenty minutes until the decommissioning. He decided he still had some time.

A box sat on a table next to him. It was attached to a mess of cords, all of them going to the object he was just under; a large thruster. The thruster hung out of the hull of the Blacknose, nearly reaching the floor. It had panels opened all over it, with cords going into holes and creases, at some parts hooking to electric junctions that were visible on the surface. Number Two leaned over the box, examining the worn labels on its switches and buttons. He surveyed his hand over them, stopping at one of the switches and turning it.

The thruster burst to life, adding its own howl to the overall din of the busy hangar. The ship was mounted on large-scale vicegrips that came out from the floor, keeping the engine from moving it. The engine studdered, coughing out chunks of black, dusty residue in a steady flurry. Number two smiled in satisfaction as he pressed the killswitch on the box, causing the engine to throttle to zero. It's noise gradually reduced to nothing as the mechanism within coasted to a stop. Number Two picked up a broom in one hand, and a folded tarp in the other. He laid the tarp on the floor next to the pile of residue.

"Fancy little box that," came a voice from behind. Number Two turned toward the voice, it was a kid in pilot getup. Leaning on a different ship in the tightly packed hangar, he expertly twiddled a piece of wheat through his fingers, "with that box, you can work on your engine without needin' a guy in the cockpit you shout 'okay, turn it over' to."

"Numbuh Fore-Winds," said Number Two flatly.

The kid spread his hands, "so glad you remem-"

"Go away."

"Come on, why the cold-"

"Go away," said Number Two more insistently.

"Look, I just wanna say well done on your original. I'm aware it beat us all in the race by a long shot. How's that thing see, anyway?"

"Go anywhere near the cockpit, and the security system will roast you."

"Yikes," he put his hands up, moving them in symmetrical motion as if to say 'calm down.' "I'm not here to steal your secrets, I just want you to see something really... interesting. Trust me, you'll be glad you saw it."

Number Two stopped sweeping to look at the squirrely kid. "How do I know you're not just drawing me away, so an accomplice of yours can slip into my plane?"

He shrugged, "you don't, but consider this: If I do, then my accomplice would be in for a nasty surprise regarding that security system you mentioned." He pointed one finger upward, "I've been in your sights the whole time since You mentioned it to me, so there's no way I could warn him." He spread his arms, lifting his eyebrows, "Do you really think I'd just let someone get roasted like that?"

Number Two thought for a moment, "yeah, I guess that makes sense. You're a punk, but you wouldn't actually get someone hurt." He leaned his broom on the worktable, "so what is it?"

Number Fore-Winds bumped off the surface he was leaning on, advancing closer to Number Two, "It's this ship I saw in hangar nine-C"

"Is that far?"

"About five minute's walk."

"Alright, I'll see it then." Number Two walked past him, with him catching up to his side. Without concentrating, they walked at the same speed, "so what's so funny about this ship?"

"It's the most impractical design I've ever seen. You have to see it to believe it."

"Why can't we just fly to hangar nine-C?"

"Fly? On your plane?"

"No, yours."

"It's a clearance hangar, only the KND Central Aerospace Corps: Echelon Tangent is supposed to land ships in it."

"Oh, yeah," Number Two smiled to himself, "those CASCET clowns. Aren't you part of that outfit?"

"Yeah, but I landed here because of the race."

Walking there started feeling a lot less necessary. "How do I know this isn't another of your mousy con games?"

"Hey, look, I'm done with that. The bothersome weasel is the old me."

Number Two made a flat expression portraying patient annoyance, "really?"

He puffed his chest up, "I've found a new passion, I don't need to prove how much smarter I am than everyone else anymore."

"And what's so great that you would stop being a bother to everyone?"

"Ladies are my new opponent, they are just inscrutable, it's fascinating, really."

"So you've gone from prankster to player. I don't think that's any better."

"Respectin' our other half doesn't form an all new bad. They happen to be very positive toward guys who are friendly and civil to them."

"You, nice? I'll have to see it to believe it."

They came past a chili dog stand next to the hangar exit.

"Hey, you wanna..?"

"Absolutely."

* * *

Number Three Sixty Two checked her watch, noting it to be less than five minutes until the decommissioning. She was standing in front of a full-body mirror. To her right was a row of large windows showing a view of the outside. The panes were angled to face more downward than over. The angle made it possible to easily walk up them as though it were an extension of the floor. To her left, there were rows of supply closets, and a short hallway leading to an open elevator lift. She checked her watch again.

Another hand batted hers down, "ya gotta stop that. You check that thing every five seconds."

She sighed, and turned her head to look at Number Eighty Six. "Duly noted, are you done with my helmet now?"

"No," she held Number Three Six Two's helmet with her left arm arount it. With her right arm she rubbed a folded, puffy rag along one of the blades. "This thing had gum on it, gum! Real, sticky, icky gum what's been in someone's mouth."

"I don't care if it looks dirty, I don't have time for such trivial things."

"Well I do. If you're gonna appear in front of everyone, you're gonna look nice!" She had an enthusiastic tone. She inspected the helmet, nodding in satisfaction. Number Three Six Two reached for it, but Number Eighty Six hugged it away from her. She walked around behind her. Then brought it over Number Three Sixty Two's head. She observed what she was doing through the full-body mirror. She placed the helmet on her head methodically, making sure it was on straight.

"Fanny, this is ridiculous, I think I can put on my own helmet."

"Ya said ya don't have time for 'trivial concerns,' so just let me do it." She set the helmet, then walked a full circle around Number Three Six Two, inspecting her appearance.

"I'm becoming increasingly certain you're attributing me to one of those dress-up dolls you like to play with."

Her face became a hard, icy glare, "how do you know about that!"

She laughed, "rumors, you just confirmed it, though."

"Well," she settled down, "I suppose it's okay if you know." She turned around, "you look fine, I guess."

"Good, because you're on in thirty seconds."

Number Eighty Six spun around. Her eyes shot to Number Three Six Two's wristwatch, but she had her arms crossed, and was looking straight ahead. "Don't be late, now, I know how much you like to holler at everyone."

Number Eighty six went to the lift at the end of the short hall. She entered, and it slowly lifted her up. She lifted her thumb up, smiling, "you better believe it." The elevator sped up after going up the first meter, causing her to quickly disappear from sight.

As soon as she was out of sight, Number Three Six Two dropped on her knees, gripping the sides of her head and curling downward. Her newly polished helmet dropped on the floor with a resounding clank. The feeling had returned; a feeling she felt with increasing frequency since the incident three days ago, the feeling that made her afraid to sleep. It had returned, and it was stronger than ever.

She lifted her head, looking into the full-body mirror. She saw her eyes. Her irises had become exaggerated; thick, conspicuous ovals that shrunk the pupils to nothing. They spread outward, covering most of the white. They had changed color.

They were now blue.

A pale, lifeless blue she had seen before, on the eyes of fellow kids who were themselves pale, and lifeless. The sense slammed home in her mind. She knew exactly what was happening to her. It would brainwash her into an enemy of the KND, of everything she stood for. She felt it shifting and ripping in the most sensitive part of her entire being; her mind. She felt the things that she enjoyed, things she wanted never to forget being pulled away and discarded, to be replaced by efficient logic, conformity,

and hate.

"No!"

She struggled against the unnatural tide flowing through her mind and addling her senses. As she pushed against it, she felt a slight amount of progress in beating it back. Resisting it felt like moving something her full strength was barely able to budge. When she did get it to move, it wasn't clear, tangible movement, but rather, her efforts merely caused it to fold and squish into itself like foam. She pushed it away as far as she could, reclaiming precious areas of her irreplaceable mind. But at the end of it, she was completely spent. The invading force waited for precisely as long as could be considered a bit of time, before striking back in full force. It spread through her mind with a vengeance, sweeping aside all she progress she made. It wrested control with more power than ever.

Another, different energy made its way to the area of her mind she could feel. As her thoughts became torn and divided, it slipped free. She didn't know what it was, but it was clearly oblivious to the invading energy. She felt she wanted to know what it was. But she didn't have time. Frantically, she took out a small, handheld rod from her sleeve. The rod had a big camera lens on the top end. She aimed it at her face, and squeezed.

A powerful flash came out the lens, entering through her eyes and producing a harmless tap on her brain. The invasive energy subsided, becoming dormant again. She gathered her senses, breathing heavily. She stayed bent over on her knees and hands, taking all the time she needed to calm down. She looked at the flasher in her hand. It was a recommissioning device, a rare item capable of restoring a person's mind and memories to a previous state, thereby undoing any mind-altering effect that happened in the past, but it was only a temporary solution. Every time she used it, the invasive energy manifested again later, stronger, and sooner each time. She speculated she had an hour, at most, before it came back. She picked up her helmet and got back on her feet. "I just need to last a little longer. After this is done, after I've settled the past, then, I'll see to the future."

_Soon, everything is going to change._

It came as a voice in her head, under ordinary circumstances, hearing it would confuse and startle her, yet now, in her state of mind, she saw it as a simple conversation partner, "when that happens," she whispered, "I'll handle it."

* * *

A large digital clock was mounted on the upper wall of the hangar. It indicated the time to be about fifteen minutes before the decommissioning.

"So, yeah, this is a real ship," said Number Fore-winds, "Is this this thing... funny, or what?"

"It's... interesting," said Number Two, "but I wouldn't say funny."

"It's just, It's just so..." he prickled his fingers at each other with spastic anxiety, "petty."

"Petty? Are you sure we're looking at the same ship? Whoever made it clearly put a lot of effort into it."

He slammed the railing, "That's what I mean. It's like spending a million plates to build the world's biggest manure pile."

"What!" Number Two looked genuinely offended. "Alright, we're having a debate. I can't take your slander lying down."

He looked over to Number Two, slowly forming a grin. He shook his head, "You don't know what you're challenging, Two."

"We're doing this. Your move first, Fore-winds."

"Alright," he turned to directly face Number Two, resting his right hand on the railing, "when the guys who made this thing told me it was a real ship, I laughed my butt off. I thought it was meant for that; you know, humor. But then, they showed that they were serious. I can still see the introverted reverence on their pasty little faces. This is more a shrine than a ship. A shrine of the same insignificant caliber as a shrine to Barney, Elvis, or Bill Cosby would be."

"Ah, but they did it because they had a passion for it. It doesn't matter what it is on the broad scheme of things. What matters is what it is in their hearts. If you can't recognize that, you're ignorant."

"Any simpleton or weakling can devote their entire being to something. In fact, they can do it more easily than bigger people. Therefore I must judge what, specifically, they've commited to, as it is the only standard in this scenario that isn't one-dimensional zealotry."

"Agreed, let's focus on the ship itself. But it's clean until proven dirty. Specify negative aspects on it or hold your piece."

"Gladly, I assert that there's no aesthetic in this ship design worth replicating. It's mildly realistic, and gray as my granny. Any judgement that believes it worth trying to replicate is clearly delusioned. They're replicating a second-rate Sci-Fi prop."

"But the appeal isn't in the ship itself. The value they're truly projecting is its story; the story of her captain and crew, multiple crews, in fact. A ship doesn't have to look great to have an interesting tale to tell." This is it, thought Number Two, I've got him. He can criticize the ship as a prop, but there's no way he can criticize the story surrounding it.

Number Fore-Winds bent his head down, gripping his forehead with two fingers, after a long half-minute of thought, his head snapped up again, "time!"

"Time? Are you making some kind of weasel tactic?"

"No, time!"

"What do you mean, time?"

"Is it timeless? This object, this replica, this attempt at emulation parked beneath our feet. Will it stand the test of time? Will future generations recognize any value in it?"

"Its story is timeless."

"But are the story and model entwined? In the distant future, when they dig this up, are they going to have the same context as the people who built it? When they see this ship, is the story that gives it its true merit going to magically pop into their heads? No, it isn't, therefore the true merit is in the story alone, not the ship. That the ship is a tribute to the story is irrelevant; it was misdirected. If they truly wanted to express fandom toward the story, they should have grasped what, at its core, truly gave it value. But instead they chose to focus on a surface element that serves, not as evidence of something greater, but merely as a reminder to those who have already experienced it." This is it, thought Number Fore-winds, there's no way he can counter that. They had agreed to center their debate on the ship, and he just proved the problem with it. His case was airtight. Unless his opponent could bend reality, there was no way he could put a hole in it.

Number Two thought for a moment. He ticked the seconds by with tapping on his cheek using an index finger. He shook his head, smiling, "no."

"No?"

"No."

"Why no?"

"In the distant future, if somebody dug up that ship, and there was no correlation to the story behind it. It would still have an effect on whosoever saw it. Because everybody would already be aware of the story. In the future, it will have become an inseparable part of human culture. They won't need to know the details. Seeing the likeness of that ship will, in everyone, at the very least produce an effect of vague importance."

Fore-Winds lifted an eyebrow, "do you really think it'll become that big? That... dogmatic to people?"

"No question about it."

"Hmph, we shall see. Consider this debate on hold until the future."

"No, I don't want to put this on hold."

"Seeing the future for oneself is the only way to know it. Neither of us can truly prove our points until then."

"But I want to resolve this now. I don't want to leave this half-finished."

"You want resolution. You want certainty. These things are utterly distinct from wanting to know the truth."

"I think you're just afraid of losing."

"All I care about is the truth. When a true debate ends, both parties benefit. Unfortunately, we can't resolve this particular debate, and also keep it true."

Number Two paused, gripping his chin with one hand, "Careful and methodical, and yet you're a pilot? You must be a huge coward at the helm."

"Hey, low blow, man." He pointed his finger at Number Two, "I'll have you know that I've never been shot down by enemy fire."

Number Two's face pent up, then, incapable of holding it in, he burst out laughing. "You've never been shot down? I bet they call you Tail Pipe, 'cause that's all they ever see of you." His laughter intensified.

Fore-Winds grinned, "close, they actually call me the shrinking dot."

They both laughed.

"Hey, Two, Your CO is here."

"What?"

"Your sector leader, she's coming over here."

"How could she possibly know I'm here?"

"It's not like you came here in disguise, she must've asked around."

Number Five approached them with apparent haste. A heavy looking bag was slung over her shoulder. She looked to her left and right as she walked, as if afraid of being watched. She came up to them. "Numbuh Two, we need to talk."

"Sure, Abby, what is it?"

"On the way to the decommissioning, it's gonna start soon."

He looked over at the clock on the hangar wall, "ah, shoot, you're right."

"Abby?" Interjected Number Fore-Winds. "Number Two, this is that girl you were talking about just now?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't play dumb, Two, you were just talking about how you like this girl."

Number Two became stiff as stone. He looked at Number Fore-winds, who was smiling a smile only he could see.

"Aww, no, Hoagie. Have you been talkin' behind my back?" Said Number Five angrily, smiling a smile Number Two couldn't see.

"Yeah," said Fore-winds, facing Number Two with a confrontational stance, "you don't talk about people behind their back, it's not cool."

"Maybe I'd like to hear what you have to say about me, so come on, spit it out."

"Yeah, Two, grow a spine, tell the girl how you feel."

Five and Fore-winds both had invisible grins on their faces. They focused their attention entirely on Number Two.

"I can't believe this, why don't you say something for yourself, Hoagie?"

"Yeah, Two, you have to own up for what you obviously did here, in the real world."

"Well? Don't keep me in suspense."

"Man up, Two, man up!"

"I didn't do anything!" Number Two threw his arms out, and lifted his head back as though bursting from a shell. If his eyes were visible underneath his flight goggles, they would be angry. He looked at Number Five, "I don't want to hear about this again. It's obvious what you're deliberately doing, and I don't appreciate it." He turned to Number Fore-winds, "and you..." He pointed his finger at him, "I hope you had fun with this, because now, you're on my list." He slid the tip of his thumb along his neck.

They were silent. Number Five began clapping. She shook her head, smiling. Number Fore-winds lifted his head, with his eyebrows raised, "Two, that, was, great! Congratulations, you officially have a backbone."

"You don't gotta say nothin' to him," said Number Five, "he now speaks for himself." She turned around, "but now it's real talk, walk with me." Number Two followed. Number Fore-winds followed as well. Number Five glanced at him, still walking, "why are you coming? Don't you have an aerospace corps to look after?"

"They all have it off until the decommissioning is over. I'm interested in what you're doing. Mind if I tag along?"

They rounded a corner of the catwalk, coming into a beeline toward a door out of the hangar.

"Wait a sec," said Number Two, "Number Five, you're talking as if this disruptive punk is in charge of the aerospace corps."

"He is."

Number Fore-winds shrugged when Number Two snapped his head to look at him, "not a promotion I think I deserved, but Three Sixty Two said I was," he made fingerquotes, "the only prudent element in a unit full of reckless hotshots."

"So she promoted you for being a coward." Said Number Two.

"Number Fore-winds pointed an index finger upward, he had a smug smile, "for being prudent."

"If you're a pilot, they're the same thing!"

"Numbuh Fore-winds," said Number Five, ignoring their argument, "before I let you in on this, there's something I need to know."

"And what might that be?"

"Numbuh Three Sixty Two, what do you think of her?"

They went through the door at the end of the catwalk, entering into another room. The room had a rounded, protruding wall on their right. The protruding wall was the inner wall of a spiraling ramp. It had the ramp going up on its right, and down on its left. Straight ahead of them could be seen transparent blast doors leading to the catwalks of a different hangar. On their left were a pair of corridor entrances with a chili dog stand set up between them. Number Five led them to the left, passing the chili dog stand and entering one of the corridors.

"The supreme leader?" Said Number Fore-winds. "Now, see here, there's no way she could be a mole."

"Just answer my question," said Number Five.

"Her dedication is beyond question. She once ate through a mountain of broccoli to protect the KND. Afterward, she was in a coma for two weeks."

"I know that, everyone knows that. But what I need to know is your personal opinion."

"Very well, In my humble evaluation, in light of my promotion, she's certainly a good judge of character. As for ability, If Two Seventy Four, her predecessor, was Vader, she would be Sidious."

"You're a War Stars fan," said Number Two.

"I do believe it's better than Homotrek."

"Why, you-"

"Children!" interjected Number Five, "I said we're having real talk. This could well be an emergency, Numbuh Fore-winds."

"Yes, my fair lady?"

"If Numbuh Three Sixty Two ordered you to dive into the center of the Asparagus Sea for no reason, would you do it?"

"I would sooner form a splinter cell, assimilate the entire KND, and have her relieved of her post."

"Good answer."

"But I don't see that scenario ever happening, she would never give an order so irrational. I'd basically be rebelling against a completely different person."

"I don't understand it either."

"Abby, what's bugging you?" Said Number Two.

"She's been acting weird, I mean, why would she order Numbuh One's decommissioning only a week after he vanished?"

"Oh," said Number Fore-winds. "She's doing that to give him a proper farewell from everyone, there's no shenanigans there. You yourself reported him gone for good."

"Yeah, I get that, but why do it at this particular time?"

"As opposed to... what, Tomorrow? Yesterday?"

"Another week from now."

There was a pause as they walked together silently. Number Five shifted her bag to her other shoulder.

"Ahh, I get it," said Number Two. "An operative has to vanish for at least two weeks to be considered officially gone. It's only been one week since he disappeared."

"Exactly," said Number Five. "Why would she expedite his decommissioning by just one week? It doesn't make sense."

"That is indeed an anomaly," said Number Fore-winds. "But it doesn't make a case on its own. You gotta have something more."

"I do," said Number Five. "Yesterday, and the day before that, my sector hasn't been given any missions."

"How could that even correlate to Three Sixty Two? It's not like she constantly micromanages mission assignments."

"That's true," said Number Five. "But in this case, I think she did. I think she deliberately kept missions away from sector V."

"Perhaps you haven't been given any because you lost an operative. They could be putting you on standby until you're fully manned again."

"That would be a solid excuse, except that we pulled off the Bargate Academy mission without a hitch, and that was three days ago."

The corridor they traveled through came to a section where it was transparent everywhere except the walkway. Most of the moonbase was visible beneath them. Above, there could be seen nothing but Earth and the stars. The corridor took a clearly visible route toward the auditorium. The Auditorium was the widest segment of the entire moonbase. It was like a tower that, in its beginning stages, constantly invested early into greater width, that it might be all the more vast when it grew tall. But when it finally did grow in height, it only made it halfway. Most of the auditorium's roof was taken by a massive, transparent dome.

"You have a point," said Number Fore-winds. "It isn't like her to not capitalize on an element that's proven itself dependable. But she's extremely busy, maybe she just didn't notice?"

"I thought that, too, until she mentioned it to me in conversation."

"You talked to her? She didn't try to stick you with Number Thirteen, did she?"

"What? No, why?"

Number Two got pent up, about to burst into laughter. "I see, Number Thirteen is in the Central Aerospace Corps."

Number Fore-winds sagged, "his transfer is tonight."

"Man," said Number Five, "your unit is starting to sound like a dumping ground."

He put his hands together, lowering his head in a begging posture. "Five, please, I'll literally pay you to take him off my hands."

Number Five made a devious smile. "Sure, but it'll have to be more than the cost of a new holding cell, expenses, you understand."

"You'd keep him locked up?"

She took out a bottle with her free hand, taking a long drink. She exhaled after swallowing. "Locked up, bound, and gagged. And I'd do a cavity search on him every few days." "Wow, Abby, you don't take chances," said Number Two.

"Let's get back on topic now," said Number Five.

"Yes, about that," said Number Fore-winds, now sober. "you need more evidence to pin any form of shenanigans charge on Three Sixty Two. It isn't even reasonable for you to come to a conclusion with what you have."

"I have something that might clarify everything." She looked to her right, "Numbuh Two."

"Yes?"

"Do you have a DNA scanner?"

"Yeah, my plane's on-board computer has one, why?"

"That's all I need to know."

"What's your plan?" Said Number Fore-winds."

Number Five looked at him, "Look, it's none of your business. You've been actin' all friendly, but I've seen your record. You're like Numbuh Thirteen, only smarter, and by extension more disruptive and difficult to pin down."

He frowned, "I..."

"Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not getting on your case. You haven't done anything bad by me. But you'll understand if I don't trust you with real info."

Number Fore-winds had his eyes closed. After a moment of tension, he opened them. He stepped ahead of Numbers Five and Two as he spun around and walked backwards. He smiled and spread his arms. "My fair lady, if you want me gone, you only need to say so." He stopped walking, and clicked his shoes together. His shoes sprouted wheels, causing him to roll ahead of them with growing speed. "Ta ta," he said as he waved at them. The corridor ahead all went downhill, forming into a downward spiral that ended at the auditorium building. He disappeared from view very quickly.

"So, now that he's gone," said Number Two. "What is your plan? What do you need a DNA scanner for?"

Number Five stuck her free hand under her hat, with a resounding rip sound, she pulled out a tiny, metal case. The case had a sticky side with red residue from her hat. She handed it to Number Two. "There's a single hair inside this, I want you to have it scanned after the decommissioning."

Number Two put it in his right side pocket, "you got it. Hey, Abby?"

"What?"

"What's in the bag?"

She switched the heavy bag to another shoulder, "Nothin' you need to be worried about."

Number Two knew her to sometimes act on a need to know basis. This was her way of saying the information was need to know, and he didn't. He didn't mind it, though. They descended down the spiral section leading to the auditorium.

"Hey, Hoagie, I got a question."

"Okay, shoot."

"These shoes you made, how do they know exactly when to grip and when not to?"

"Ah!" He smiled and pointed his finger up. "I'll admit they're actually late-stage prototypes. Have they ever misinterpreted your situation?"

"Not once." "Then I think I can safely call them version one-point-oh."

"That's great and all, but how do you do it?"

"Simple, by looking into your heart."

Number Five faced away, scratching the back of her neck. "Hoagie, what the holler are you talkin' about!"

"What!" He said defensively, "I just said they monitor your pulse."

"Oh... I see."

"What do you think I meant?"

"N-nothing."

Number Two paused for a second, "...do you want to talk about it?"

"No!"

They neared the end of the spiral; the auditorium. As they entered the vast building, they spotted Numbers Three and four approaching them from the left. The room they were in was an unremarkable intersection. A titanic metal blob was partially visible from this room. It seemed oblivious to the formation of rooms and corridors surrounding it. A door led into the blob from the room. Rows of seats were partially visible beyond it. The room was crowded by an influx of kids arriving to attend."

Numbers Two, Three, Four, and Five formed in a circle.

"I'm glad you're all here on time," said Number Five. She paused for a notable second, "Let's... all go find seats."

They didn't move.

"I can't do this," said Number Three. "I feel as though if I go in there..."

"No longer a kid next door, he really will be gone forever." Said Number Two.

"Guys..."

"It's not just that," said Number Four. "Everything we did together, all of our past adventures..."

Number Three shook her head, "It'll feel like we've put it all behind us."

They remained silent.

"Listen to me," said Number Five. "I'm not going to correct anything you said. What you guys said is true. If we go in there, we'll be acknowledging him as a part of the past. The past is such because it's made entirely of things you don't have anymore. I won't try to convince you this is in any way pleasant, however."

They lifted their heads to look her in the eyes.

"We can't walk away from this. We're his friends. We have to see him off in every way possible, and afterward, we have to feel the emptiness left by his absence. If we don't do that, it'll be as though he meant nothing to us." She walked past them, toward the auditorium main. "We can meet this head on, or regret forever the decision, no, the indecision, not to."

As she entered the auditorium, they followed.

The aftermath to the earthling they knew was coming to an end.

* * *

Number Three Sixty Two checked her watch, noting the decommissioning had started. She felt the lift push her at high speed up the dark shaft. The shaft brightened, and the lift slowed, signifying she was near the top.

"Atten-shun!" called Number Eighty six's voice as the lift reached the top.

She emerged, suddenly making eye-contact with every kid at the auditorium. A sea of faces were pointed at the stage, at the center of which she stood. She didn't see a single empty seat. The KND had a bigger auditorium on earth, but the decommissioning of operatives was always done at the moonbase. She was flanked far off at her sides by six armed members of the decommissioning squad. She raised her fist in the air, "Kids Next Door rule!"

"Kids Next Door rule, sir!" Answered the crowd in unison.

"At ease, everyone." She walked to the edge of the stage. "As you all know, this gathering is for the decommissioning of one of our comrades. And that comrade, is Kids Next Door operative Number One, leader of sector V. As this is the wake to his leaving the KND, everything he's done as one of us, all of his significant actions will be presented, and he will be held accountable for it all, good and bad." She paused briefly before continuing. "His list of exploits is far too long to begin to mention. Anybody who knew him personally can attest to his unwavering, and relentless dedication to our cause, to the well-being of kids everywhere." She surveyed the crowd to her left, then to her right. "I am here personally, at his decommissioning, to say a few things. Firstly, that it was I who ordered that he be decommissioned, before his thirteenth birthday, and by no violation of the rules on his part."

This caused the room to erupt with murmuring. It quickly rose to a steady hum of noise.

"I ordered his decommissioning because he is gone, forever."

The room quieted, it's mood quickly becoming sober.

She continued, "one week ago, he fought against the Delightful Children From Down The Lane, and knocked them into the giant flushing toilet bowl. This is the part of the story most of you probably know. What you all probably don't know is that he fell into the bowl himself, sharing their fate. Recent evidence indicates this to have happened. This is nothing less than an honorable decommissioning-no," she corrected herself, "a hero's funeral."

She paused for a second, letting it sink in before continuing. "But he is not completely lost to us. Among his many accomplishments was the rediscovery of the book of KND." An assistant came out on the stage. He carried a reinforced metal box. As he approached Number Three Six Two, he turned a key on the side. The box opened, and he presented the contents to her. She took an old looking book out of the box. The covers were battered and repaired by unorthodox methods, but the book as a whole was in good shape.

"This book," she continued, "is the last line of defense for all kids in their struggle against evil adults. It was the original teacher for the first kids next door of our age, and a testament to the abstract reality that what we stand for, is nothing less than timeless. The book contains an area for kids who battle adult tyranny to record their stories, that they never be forgotten." She was aware that her words probably seemed redundant to a lot of the kids present, but she learned that when you talk to a large crowd it isn't a big deal. "Number One left words, left his story in the book." she held it in her open palm, standing it on the spine. This caused it to open in her hand. "His story is this, five words only. We, are, Kids Next Door." She close the book and placed it in the box. The assistant closed it and locked it as he carried it away.

She surveyed the crowd again. She was on a lower elevation than most of them, but she had entered a mindset where she didn't exist. There was only them, and her anonymous mind speaking to them. "Things that a person values are not taken, or discovered. They are created. We, are, Kids Next Door," she smiled, "I've not heard wiser words." She turned and began pacing, not taking her eyes off them. "The heroes that we see in cartoons, video games, and comics, they all live in a world where nothing ever happens until somebody shows up, and begins making things different, making things change. When these people cause the world to change, it is always in a bad way, that serves only their own, shortsighted goals. The heroes battle against them, they struggle, driven by the conviction that their enemy cannot be allowed have their way. Eventually, they triumph, and at the end of the day, their world, and themselves are back to exactly the way they were before the problems happened, the status quo, restored. The heroes are happy with this, they're not like us kids, they don't know how to want more." She stopped pacing, and faced them all at once. "We, the Kids Next Door, are not like those heroes. The evil we battle against is already a more regular part of our world. Our enemies are an old, traditional establishment, with the excuse to assert that those who resist them are rebels and contrarians who don't want peace and don't stand for anything. That is why we're different from those heroes, we do not fight to preserve the status quo, but to change it. Unlike their cause, ours requires courage, character and conviction to uphold. We, are, Kids Next Door. Let those words, and the legacy of the hero who wrote them be an inspiration to all of us."


	4. Operation TATTLE-THREE

Operation T.A.T.T.L.E.-T.H.R.E.E.

Tyranny

Adheres

To

The

Lonesome

Earthling-

Tapped

Heroics

Remind

Exempted

Explanations

* * *

Once upon a big, gray ball, far way from earth, there grew a tree. It was a very healthy tree, and big as they come. On the branches of this tree, there was a tree house. The tree house was a base; a safe haven for many kids. It was not a small tree house, no, it was big, huge, in fact. The tree and house were the only source of color on the the otherwise gray moon they were on. It shone, bright and proud. Parallel to the whimsical hearts of the kids who created it, the tree house was as varied as it was vast. It had everything; watch towers, stockpiles of snacks, armories, gun turrets, and hangars loaded with spaceships. It had sensors to scan and spy on the outside world, and communication satellites to keep in touch with allies. It was fortified to the teeth, ready to drive off any intruder. It was more a city than a tree house, a city of kids, and only kids. It didn't matter that older people weren't welcome, it wasn't a place anybody but a kid would want to be anyway. It was a place where convention had no inherent sanctity, where what was fun and enjoyable was the standard for what was acceptable, a place where you could speak whatever words you wanted without fear of rebuke, a place where whatever you decide to do, so long as it does no harm, you would never be punished for it, a place where the truth ran free.

This place was the territory of the Kids Next Door.

* * *

"So happy y'all decided to let me be your unofficial tour guide for this, your first deep trek into the bowls of this fine base here on the moon." Said Number Fore-winds as he walked with a cheerful swagger, twiddling a piece of wheat between his fingers.

"Don't get ahead of yourself," said Number Four, walking behind him to his left. "All you're guiding us to is the store you've been talking so big about."

"And big it is," said Number Fore-winds, his mood undampered. "The jewel of the commercial district."

"What's it called?" Said Number Three, walking behind him to his right.

"So happy you asked, good lady. It's the Moonbase Mega-Market, otherwise known as the Triple-M."

"Ooh, do they have exclusive Rainbow Monkey things?"

"Anything you could ever imagine, but they only accept plates."

"Why do we have our own currency?" Said Number Four, "Wouldn't it be easier to just use normal money?"

"No, actually, it wouldn't, would you like me to explain why?"

"You're the tour guide," said Number Three. "Go ahead and tell us."

"Alright, then." Said Number Fore-winds, cracking his knuckles. "The KND comprises kids from many different countries on earth. Every country uses its own currency. Eventually, this became very tedious for kids who do business with us, as every unique currency has a slightly different value that fluctuates. Retailers had to constantly perform the tedious task of checking up on how much each particular money was worth."

"And that's where plates came in!" Blurted Number Three.

"Correct, the heads of all the biggest kid-centered businesses got together to discuss the problem. They realized that they had splintered off into their own sub-economy, capable of evaluating it's own in-house currency through the supply and demand paradigm. That's when they pooled their resources and built the plate mint."

"So, if all the plates come from one place, this... mint," said Number Four, "why hasn't anyone robbed it?"

"'Tis wise of you to factor in human indecency, but rest assured that such an event is unlikely. The mint is well hidden. All of the outbound shipments that come from it are documented as coming from all different ports in lovely locales around the world such as Japan, the east coast, India and the Netherlands. Besides, even if somebody found out where it was, it's a high priority on the KND's protection list."

As they walked, they came to a suspended area of the corridor whose transparent tube wall presented an exterior view of the structure they were headed toward.

The structure ahead of them looked like what you get when you build a sand castle by dribbling watered sand from above. But unlike the sand castle, the building had gravity as a much weaker obstacle to it's growth. The structure had expanded with little planning, like an organic tree reaching for all the sunlight it could, and the sunlight was located in hundreds of random, arbitrary locations. The building had a solid, tightly packed center, with the compartmentalized segments merging onto bigger segments characteristic of the center. Arms reached out in all different directions, a lot of them forming into smaller centers of their own, then reaching out with their own arms. The entire structure was lit up by lights of every color imaginable. Some of them flashed and blinked, adding to the aesthetic of chaos and disorganization brought on by the sight of the structure.

Massive spacecraft could be seen junctioned to giant launch pads, which were outside, or indented into the structure. They all pointed upward, and followed the same design pattern. They all resembled a very fat pencil, having three segments, starting with a cone-shaped cockpit on top, followed by long, expansive hulls. All sitting on excessively huge engines that seemed strong enough to propel the ship and gain speed, even in the event the main hull was filled to the last creek with solid lead.

There was a segment at the highest point of the structure, it was a multilayered disc with hangar entrances on all sides. Small ships entered through the openings on one half, and took off out the other, a policy that streamlined traffic within, increasing the efficiency of docking and departing, as well as lowering the risk of collision.

"My friends," said Number Fore-winds, raising his arms in presentation, "I present to you, the commercial district."

"That thing doesn't look like something the KND would build," said Number Three.

"An astute observation, good lady, it isn't something the KND built. Believe it or not, most of it is new." "Who built it, then?" Said Number Four.

"It was built collectively, by thousands of kids looking to make money. From tiny lemonade stands to secretive soda rings to lumbering two-by-four workshops."

"And that's why it looks like the worlds most warped mushroom," said Number Four.

"Sure," said Number Fore-winds, "and it's also why, at the rate it's going, it'll end up needing its own tree."

* * *

Number Five walked through the auditorium area. She maneuvered through the thick, noisy crowd of kids, taking care not to bump her large bag on anyone. It helped that they were all streaming in the same direction. The decommissioning was over, and everyone who attended was vacating the auditorium main. The weight of what happened was still settling in her mind. She personally witnessed Number Eighty Six remove Number One's DNA from the code module. He was no longer registered as an operative. And there was no possible way he ever could be again. Even if he returned to earth, he would not be a part of the Kids Next Door.

She sighed, veering left. She headed through a downward slope that hugged the outer shell of the auditorium main on its left. At the end of the slope, she reached another intersection. On the right turn, she could see the bridge she came to the auditorium section through. Number Three Sixty Two was leaning on it's wall. As Number Five passed her, she stood up straight and walked beside her.

"So," said Number Five, " is this place that much worth seeing?"

"It's nothing short of awesome," she replied, smiling excitedly.

"Is it private?"

She nodded.

"Lead the way." She replied without any further questions. There was an unspoken understanding between them. They wanted to talk about the boy, who was now gone from their ranks forever.

She took them away from the auditorium area. They made their way through the moonbase without incident. They walked for what felt like five minutes, and reached a web of intersecting corridors.

The arrangement looked unnecessarily convoluted, with corridors going over, under, and beside one another, sometimes u-turning right back into the cluster. Number Three Six Two followed one of them, going straight at every opportunity. It led to a dead end. The dead end was shaped like a half-sphere, capping the corridor at the tip. There was only a pair of restroom doors further back. Number Three Six Two went up to the dead end. And kicked the wall in the center.

Words appeared on the wall, "Leap with faith."

Number Five took a mental count of what her team was doing. Numbers Three and Four went with Number Fore-winds to the commercial district. Number Two was headed to his ship in the hangar to scan the hair she gave him. And she herself was hanging out with Number Three Six Two, In an attempt to find clues regarding her strange behavior. "What's wrong, Rachel? Is the door jammed?"

She looked back and smiled, "Nope, it's already open."

"What, is it somewhere else?"

She turned her head forward again, "Do, as I do." She bolted forward, ran up the wall, and jumped. Number Five jumped back, thinking she was going to land right on her, collapsing them both on the floor. A metal bar shot out of the high wall just in time for her to catch it. She pulled herself up, climbing on top of the bar to stand on it.

What she was doing seemed ridiculous given the small amount of room in the corridor.

She turned around to once again face the dead end. Keeping her balance, she stepped forward off the bar without hesitation.

This struck her as nothing short of irrational.

Another bar shot out of the wall to catch her foot. She stood up straight on the two bars, then walked over to the right to be next to the wall, then she turned toward the dead end, and walked. Shorter bars came out of the right wall to catch her feet. She continued until she reached the end. When she reached the last bar, a small opening appeared in the upper right corner of the dead end.

All Number Five could see through the opening were edged polygons that receded only slightly as they stacked up. It was possible one could squeeze inside, but just looking at it made her feel claustrophobic.

Number Three Six Two stuffed herself into this opening, "Your turn, Number Five. Don't begin until it resets." She climbed up the polygons, disappearing from sight. After she disappeared, the opening closed and all the bars receded into the walls. The corridor was exactly the way it was when they came to it. Only now, Number Three Six Two was gone. Number Five felt the uncanny effect of her just vanishing, in spite of the fact that she knew what really happened.

"Alright, Abigail, you can do this." She put down her bag and rubbed her hands together, getting worked up. Then she took a few steps back, picked her moment and bolted toward the dead end. She ran up the curved wall as far as her momentum would allow, then she jumped off. She felt the air move past her with unusual speed, and the thrill of being air borne. She propelled away from the wall, flying through the air.

Then she ran out of lift and fell down, slamming her face on the floor. She stayed down for a bit, contemplating what happened. She felt dizzy and confused, with an unpleasant rush going through her head. Why didn't the bar pop out? She did exactly as Number Three Six Two did, and yet she got the bar. Number Five got up and looked at the wall. "What did she do that I didn't?" She looked at it for a moment, before slapping her forehead in realization, "ah, Abigail, you fool." She walked up to the dead end, "I can't believe I forgot that part." She kicked the middle of the wall, causing the words to appear. She backed up for another go, but stopped. Her mind told her it would be different this time, but a strong inhibition held her back. She felt a sense that doing the same thing would yield the same result; she would end up flat on her face. "No," she told herself. "It'll be different, you're doing it right this time." She saw the words on the wall, "Leap with faith."

She didn't think any further. Ignoring any further thought and deliberation, she ran at the wall. Repeating the same move as before, she went as far up as she could go, and leaped off.

The metal bar shot out of the wall. She hit it at chest level, and got her arms over it.

* * *

Number Three Sixty Two stood in front of a window. The window was shaped like a giant, rounded trapezoid that nearly reached the floor and ceiling and other walls of the room. It presented a nice view of the outside. She turned around, surveying the room. To her right, was a small soda bar with five stools. The ceiling was a circle-shaped, extremely obtuse angled dome with rows of lights that were formed in lines. Lines aligned straight from the center to the edge. A wide, triangle shaped pit in the floor took the center of the room. It was filled with seats, all focused on a TV screen that faced toward her and the window. To her left was a padded area of floor with a merry-go-round and a pull up bar.

The feeling returned, as she expected it would. She took it with stoic endurance. It was fourty minutes since the last time it came; sooner than she estimated. She took out her recommissioning device. "Not yet, just a little longer, and then..." It flashed into her eyes. The effect was weaker than ever. She loved this room, but now it felt felt silent, hollow,

cold.

"And then It can finally end."

_Have you considered my offer?_

It was the voice again. It came and went as it pleased. If it didn't converse with her coherently, she'd be convinced she was crazy. "I have."

_And..?_

"I will accept, with an added condition."

_What is it?_

"Once it's done, there's somebody you have to defeat, before you do anything else."

_Whom?_

"She's coming right now, get a good look at her." She wrapped her recommissioning device in a piece of cloth, and then stuffed the bundle into her sleeve. She went forward, away from the window, and down the steps into the triangular pit. She got next to the TV, and hoisted herself back up on the regular floor. She continued into a narrowing hallway beyond the pit that appeared to be a dead end. When she approached the end. A small cubby hole became visible on the right. She leaned on the wall across from it. After a second, the floor in the cubby slid open, and Number Five's red hat became visible coming up the hole. Number Three Six Two smiled, and got down on one knee. When Number Five neared the top and looked upward, she extended her hand down. Number Five took it, and she hoisted her the rest of the way. Number Five got her foot up on the main floor, and stood up straight. They were face to face for an instant before she turned and went out to the room. She spread her arms, "Welcome to secret hangout eleven."

Number Five followed, looking around the room in wonderment. "For that tiny hole to lead to this..."

She turned her head back and grinned, "what's really cool is that hole is the only way in here."

"You called it number eleven."

"Yes... there's secret rooms like this all over the moonbase. They were all deleted from the blueprint data when it was completed." She walked along the left edge of the pit, between it and the soda bar. "I doubt anybody knows where all of them are."

"Who else knows about this one?" Said Number Five, walking along the right edge of the pit, between it and the miniature playground.

"Other than us, just Number Eighty Six." She came up to the window, and they stood next to it together. They looked out of the window together.

"So... He's really gone now, isn't he?" Said Number Five

"You're the one who recruited him, aren't you?" This part of the conversation was on both their minds, the small talk was only a distraction.

"That's ancient history." Said Number Five. "Way back during the first time I was leader of sector V."

"Raisinette?" She offered her a box of them. Number Five extended her open hand, and she dumped some into it. "I hear you don't enjoy talking about it."

"I'll tell you the story, if you never heard it."

"Please, do. Number Eighty Six respects your privacy too much to be the one to tell me." She flicked a raisinette into her mouth. "Okay, it was a normal morning, we were bored. Nothing much was going on, and my team and I were distracting ourselves, waiting for some action. Then a mission came down, and it was a biggie. The mission took us on a wild goose chase through all different zones of unpleasantness."

Number Three Six Two stared intently. "Was the mission a success?" She couldn't help asking, she had an instinct to at least skim every mission report she could get her hands on, if only to at least tally and compare the overall number of successes and failures. As its leader, she closely attributed the overall success of the organization to her worth as a human being, a mindset that created inside of her a ruthless, dispassionate pragmatist who wouldn't give a second thought to demoting, promoting, punishing or rewarding a hundred operatives if it meant increasing the success rate by a single precious percent. She liked that side of herself.

"Yeah, we got it done," replied Number Five. "And by then, it was the afternoon, and I was tired, my team was tired. It was with immense relief that we returned to the tree house for some R&R. But right when we arrived, another mission was waiting for us. Another doozie we had to fight tooth and nail to get done. At the end of it all, we were very exhausted, and satisfied, because we succeeded at a second big mission. I felt like we were really making an impact. We returned to the tree house, just in time to see the sun set. We were just unwinding when we got local intel that some kid I never met was being held captive by the Delightfuls. The location was sector V's jurisdiction, so it was our job to rescue him. The day was almost over, it was something I just didn't want to do right away. My team looked at me, hoping I'd postpone the mission so they could rest." "You were exhausted," she reasoned. "It's not like he was going anywhere, so you put off rescuing him."

She flicked another raisinette into her mouth, harder this time. She swallowed it quickly. "I neglected my duty once, just once." Her face was sour. "I hear he had really nice hair, before that incident."

"I see..." She was deep in thought. "Yet he signed up to join the Kids Next Door soon afterward." "Yeah, a few days later, he came to me. I was a little apprehensive about facing him. I felt responsible for what happened to him. But he was enthusiastic, he asked if he could join up with us, and I hooked him up."

She dumped the last of her raisinettes into her mouth, and tossed the empty box into the garbage chute. "You didn't save his hair, but you did rescue him, it must have left an impression."

"Yeah, well, let's just say he passed the academy with flying colors. He was immediately promoted to leader of sector V, following my stepping down."

"I know about that part, I was there."

"Wait, but you graduated from the academy long before he even joined up."

She shrugged, "I went there again for advanced training. Sector W needed a stealth specialist, and I volunteered for the role." She turned to look out the window. "You were right, you know."

"About what?"

"I..." She mentally prepared for bringing it up to another person, "I did have a crush on him, once." She suddenly felt weighty in the head.

She lifted her eyebrows, "Really? Well, your taste is your own business. I guess you could have done a lot worse than him."

"No, no, let me clarify." She shook her head. "It was a frivolous, temporary kind of crush."

Number Five made a crooked smile. "Okay, it's your turn to tell a story."

She smiled, "all right, then." She walked over to the soda bar, and took a metal cup as she went behind it. She took out a copper plate, worth a single, and stuck it into a slot on a large machine set on the counter behind the bar. She put the cup beneath the tap, and pressed a button out of two rows comprised of ten buttons. The tap opened, filling the cup. "When I was a little tike, I saw this... incredible movie. It had a life-changing effect on me. Soon, I began seeking out other films like it, and got into some pretty weird books. I sought this effect in every story I witnessed, keeping my ears perked for any sign that it might happen. It's when I started really paying attention to character development."

Number Five sat at the bar, leaning on the wide, narrow table as she looked over at her. "What... effect were you so into?"

She set her cup down and leaned in, like a bartender telling a tale. "Romance."

"What?" She had to hold in a laugh, "you're serious, aren't you? You were a googly eyed type? I couldn't possibly imagine you were ever like that. I've seen you in action. Whether you're in pen mode or sword, you're no pixie."

She shrugged, "nothing says a girl can't change her ways at some point. But back then, I was... well, I was extremely interested in the concept of love."

"In love with love, yeah, I think I get what you mean."

She took a gulp from her cup, "and who else but our boy to suffer the brunt of my overbearing determination to satisfy my romantic dreamer phase?"

"So you hit on him? Went after him like he was already your own?"

"No, hardly. I was very shy. I simply..." She wheeled her hand around in the air. "Moved my proximity closer to him. Whenever I got the opportunity to be close to him, to be in a position where we could talk, I took it. It's amazing, really, the number of small opportunities life gives you to impose your preferences on it. We were in completely different courses, he did basic, and I was training in advanced espionage. And yet there were so many ways, natural ways to approach him."

"And that's how the two of you were old acquaintances in spite of the fact that ghost operatives are supposed to be secretive about everything."

"Uh, huh," She nodded, looking down and leaning over the bar with her forearms crossed on it. "We talked, a lot. This may sound silly, but I took everything he said very seriously, I was unnaturally interested, and hell-bent on making him my boyfriend."

"Okay, wait a second," Number Five had a sour face, and was shaking her head, "you've gotta be makin' this up. I see you, and I compare her to the you that you've just described, and I see a big, fat paradox. There's no way you were like that."

She gently flicked her hand downward. "Bear with me, here." She stood up straight. "Everything I said is true. It's true that things have changed since then, but there were things I enjoyed then that I still enjoy. Food I liked then that I still like. Preferences from that time that I've kept."

"But that's different, less important than what makes you tick. That's where the change lies."

She replied with a look of surprise, "yeah, maybe you're right. Perhaps that's what's changed since then."

Number Five put a copper plate on the counter. "I'll have lemon lime, if you wouldn't mind."

She took the plate and got to serving her drink.

"An introverted lovergirl could never have accomplished everything you have." Said Number Five from across the bar.

She put an empty cup on the tap. "Lemon lime? I prefer orange, myself."

"To each her own, Rachel."

"Of course." The tap filled the cup with lemon lime.

"Let's continue your story, now. What triggered your titanic epiphany that must have happened for this to make any sense?"

"Well, Abigail," she placed the cup of lemon lime on the bar. "I'm glad you asked. You see, he was completely oblivious to the fact that I wanted to be more than friends. But even though he didn't understand me, no, because he didn't understand me, he said something that planted the seed of something new, a small impression on me that eventually grew. I don't even remember what it was that he said, but I remember it's what got me thinking. I don't think he meant to make any impact, but he did, just by being who he was."

Number Five took a sip of her lemon lime, "What was the nature, the circumstances, of what he said?"

She took a gulp. "We were heading to training together, chatting. The part came where we had to split up and go to our separate courses. That's when he said it. Something that came from his dedication to what he was doing. I think it was a courteous attempt to encourage me. It was so raw, so unprecedented, that I couldn't get it out of my head. I completed my advanced training about a week afterward, and went back to my sector."

"Don't hold me in suspense, now. Get to the epiphany. I love stories with those in them."

She hung her head down, smiling. "I did missions, unable to get the niggling idea out of my head." She returned her head to normal posture. "And when I completed them successfully, the feeling blossomed into a fully formed state of mind. I discovered a whole new dimension of satisfaction in witnessing my own efficacy." Fluidly, she formed her fingers into a fist, and back again. "From then on, I decided that romance could wait. I had something new to pursue. I had ambition, to become a better operative. And then, become five times as good as that."

"So you decided to become somebody before wanting somebody else." Said Number Five.

She pointed up her index finger, tilting her head up and shutting her eyes, implying sarcastic condescension. "In order to say I love you, one must first know how to say the I."

"You got that from a book."

She made a beaming smile, implying a subject she loved to talk about. "A book I like."

She sighed. "That's fair enough, I guess."

"Let's talk about something serious now, Number Five." She took another sip. "What are your plans?"

"Plans?"

"Now that he's gone, you're a sector leader again, and things are beginning to temper. You must be uncertain about the future, right?" She needed the answer to this. She knew the voice was watching.

"I'm gonna do what I always do."

"Eat, sleep, do missions, repeat?"

"Nah, that was Numbuh One's thing. I prefer to take a break from it every now and again. Go and see what the wider world's got under its fingernails."

Number Three Six Two walked around the bar, and sat next to Number Five. "He always was a workaholic." She took a prolonged sip of her soda. "I miss him, you know."

Number Five sipped in turn. "We all do." She looked up. "I especially miss his performance reports. People of exceptional ability are great things to have."

"I think I understand that." She took a gulp of her lemon lime. "I've seen my fair share of bean counters who lack effective autonomy."

She looked over at her blankly. "You, have no idea what it's really like."

Absentmindedly, Number Five tapped her cup on the table. "I guess that's all the more impression for you when a team does unexpectedly well, pulling off huge missions and solving crises. From your perspective, you probably formed the logical, and stressful assumption that solving those things would have been an arduous pain in the glute, but then one team comes along and solves it in it's own unprecedented efficacy. Pieces on the board that do unexpectedly well, like rolling Yahtzee or landing a critical hit."

"Those things depend on luck, sector V is more like a queen piece; highly formidable, and good for covering a lot of bases."

"Oh? Did your feelings for him resurface at some point?"

"No, it was something brand new. Something a lot stronger. But he had a girlfriend."

"Well, what about after they broke up?"

"What could I do? I was interested in him, sure, but say I called him up to meet me at the moonbase. He'd be all serious, salute, and ask me what sort of situation called for his presence. After that, it's not like I could up and ask him out."

"And why not?" Snapped Number Five, her tone hinting at anger. "Are you the type to just give up? He was a kid next door, through and through, and you, his leader. You could've gotten it to work."

"He'd just had a breakup, I didn't want to crowd him."

"I got nothin' personal against his old girlfriend, but what they had was lighthearted, to the core. It was cute, but despite him bein' hurt by its ending, it lasting forever wouldn't have been realistic. But the the two of you, all the things you had in common inside." She tapped her fist on her heart several times. "You could've really made each other happy." She shook her head. "And Glob knows the both of you needed it. You hardly have any free time, and he spent all of his working."

"I wouldn't say hardly any free time. I'm hanging out with you, right?"

"Yeah, and I bet my braid there's at least twelve people out looking for you, and a foot high stack of papers sitting on your desk." She looked down into her cup, and snapped it right back. "You gotta go out of your way to get a lot of the things you want in life, or it'll just slip past you."

She sighed, "You're right, I just didn't know he'd up and disappear." She scrunched, looking down into her cup. "It just... felt like he'd always be there."

Number Five unwound a bit, forming a light smile. "To do his thing, and make us feel like what we were doing was so significant."

Number Three Six Two snapped to look at Number Five. "Do you think we're being shallow?"

"What? Whaddya mean?"

"You see it, right? Our entire conversation happens to be revolving around a guy..?"

"No, nah, this is his wake, we ought to be talking about him."

"That's a relief to hear. I thought we'd have to change the subject for propriety's sake."

Number Five spun around in her stool. "We choose to talk about something, so it's proper, not the other way around."

She nodded in understanding. "What we do, it possesses significance, I'm sure of it."

"Yeah, yeah, I heard your speech. We're bigger kids than the superheroes and all that."

She got up from her seat and stepped away, drawing closure to their conversation. "Listen to me." She paused for a moment, implying that what she had to say was something heavy. "Soon, everything is going to change." She spoke without looking back at her. She looked down, but not at the floor. "You have to be ready, when it does."

Number Five became attentive, "ready for what?"

"When a real hero, a vivid hero is tested, it's in more ways, more realistic ways than just dealing with emergencies."

"What are you getting at?"

She looked back, and smiled, " it's just..."

"What?"

"Next time you're up at the moonbase, you and me... we're gonna play a round of chess, alright?" "Yeah... okay, it's a date, but in the meantime, get some sleep, alright?"

She took a small object, wrapped in cloth, out of her sleeve. "I want you to have something."

"What is it?"

She handed it to her. "Something precious and irreplaceable."

"Are you sure about giving something like that away?"

"I want you to have it. You might need it."

"wouldn't you want to keep something like that?"

She walked away from her, taking the way out of secret hangout 11 first. "Not anymore."

[Line]

Number Two opened the small, metal box.

He was aboard his plane in the central hangar. Before taking the box out, he made sure the door was sealed. When Number Five gave him the box, she produced the vibe that it was something serious, so he wanted to delve into it feeling safe.

The box slid open, revealing a single hair. He pinched it between his forefinger and thumbnail. It was quite long, and lightly tinted. He sat down on a computer console beside the door to the cockpit, placing the hair on a small, green rectangle of glass built into the desk. He reached over and pulled a cover over it. Hitting keys on the console with rapid efficiency, he brought up the hair on the main screen. He put on a wireless headset with a microphone. "Computer, do a DNA scan on this sample."

The computer complied silently, showing a progress bar over the readout screen of the hair. In a few seconds, the progress bar reached the end, instantly turning into a font that read: Scan complete!

"Good," said Number Two, "now, cross-reference the data to every DNA entry in the KND code module. Display all entries that match."

Another progress bar appeared. Above the progress bar, the computer rapidly switched through the file path of every DNA data file in the database. Showing only one file at a time, they zipped past far too quickly to read. The progress bar reached it's end, flipping to a font that read: No matches.

Number Two got unsettled by this. It meant the hair belonged to someone who was either not an operative, or no longer one. He remembered five particular enemies of the KND who were able to register themselves as operatives, despite being former operatives long before that, implying a change in DNA. The hair he had might be from someone with a similar condition.

"Computer, cross-reference the data again. But this time with a twenty percent discrepancy threshold."

The computer complied, again flipping through every entry, this time more slowly. The progress bar reached the end. The font that followed read: Matches found: 1

"Show me."

A sub window appeared over the screen of the hair. It was the DNA file of Number Three Sixty Two. An attached screen showed the file of the DNA data taken from the hair. Between them read: 92% match.

Number Two felt a heavy load in his gut. He rubbed his face in a hard, singular motion. When he was ready, he continued. "Computer, isolate the eight percent of the DNA taken from the hair that doesn't match with this operative's original DNA file.

Another progress bar, and the readout of the hair turned into a simple DNA data file.

"Now, cross match this data with every DNA file in the KND arctic prison database."

The computer showed a message reading: connecting... It didn't have a hard connection to the arctic prison, and therefore had to rely on soft waves to connect to it's servers. The font changed: Error: aerial required.

"Come on!" He exclaimed in a complainative tone. Disgruntled, he got up from his seat. He went through the door to the cockpit, it opened for him. Through the door was a small passage followed by another door. "Would you like to enter the cockpit?" spoke a mechanical voice.

"So I can soar through the stars." Replied Number Two.

The next door swished open, revealing the interior of the Blacknose cockpit. He came up to the control console. A huge screen was mounted in front of the pilots seat, and a handheld remote with dual analog sat on the dashboard. Number Two got under the dashboard, and unhooked a clasp. He lifted it up, revealing the original controls. Eight keys sat in eight different ignitions, all arranged in two rows of four. The deck was littered with switches and knobs. Number Two surveyed his free hand over them, stopping at one and flipping it up. He let the dashboard fall back into place. Then he exited the cockpit, the doors swishing shut behind him. As he walked about his ship, the sound of robotic movement could be heard coming from the roof. When the movement stopped, Number Two sat back down at the terminal, "Retry connection."

The retry button on the error font pressed itself, and the computer went back to connecting with the KND base on earth. The connection established successfully, and it began the DNA cross-reference. Number Two knew it would take a while due to the soft connection, so he got up and headed toward the back of the ship. He passed the captain's seat and approached the back wall. The Blacknose was a lot bigger than most specialized fighter craft. Most of them only had small cockpits you entered directly from the outside. But despite the Blacknose having navigable rooms, there were none for the engines. Past the captain's seat, there were no doors in the back wall. He approached a freezer that was braced down near the back. He opened it and browsed it's contents.

The computer beeped, and he looked back at it. The monitor read that it was finished. He went back to it as he absently flipped the freezer shut. He leaned past the chair to check the monitor. The font read: Matches found: 5

The arctic prison kept DNA records of every inmate, past and present, as well as archiving the DNA of every major enemy the KND has fought, but never captured. Number Two spoke again to the computer, "Display all of the corresponding dossiers to the DNA matches."

The computer brought up a single digitized dossier. It was five kids, grouped closely together. They weren't in prison uniform in the picture, suggesting they'd never been captured. They all had the same pale, blue eyes, and the same dispassionate expressions in their faces. Number Two knew exactly who they were. He took an encased disc from a rack on the table, and then put it into a slot on the side of the console. It clicked in place as it entered the slot. "Computer, burn the DNA file of the hair to data disc drive T."

The computer complied. When it was finished, Number Two pressed a stiff button next to the slot, ejecting the disc. He took it and stood up. Number Five really was on to something, and the disc had the data from the DNA reading of the hair. The hair contained the DNA of the original, and the infection, which was all the evidence they needed. He just had to bring it to Number Five. She'll know what to do with it. Number Two hid the disc inside his underpants. He looked around the ship, thinking of anything he might need. Feeling paranoid, he decided to bring his weapons.

* * *

"Man, how does anybody know their way around that place." Said Number Four as they headed away from the commercial district. "I'm amazed that place is growing."

"I think," replied Number Fore-winds, "the fact that it was crowded like a War Stars premiere had something to do with its growth."

"I don't see why anyone could gripe," said Number Three, carrying a shopping sack loaded with things she bought. "They had so much awesome stuff for sale."

"Yeah, I guess the Triple-M was alright. But why'd they let all those peddlers set up shop in its main floor?" Said Number Four, "it really stunk up the place."

"They did it to make some small change on the side, foster goodwill from any future giants, and see about assimilating any nice products that show up at their door." Said Number Fore-winds. "The commercial district is growing ten percent bigger every month. And the Triple-M is about thirty percent of the district."

"Okay, stop, now, please," said Number Four. "I have to cram enough boring info at school."

"School? I don't like that place much myself. Hate to remind you of it."

"It's not all bad," said Number Three.

Number Fore-winds shrugged in reply, "yeah, I suppose it has redeeming qualities." He looked forward with his head inclined forward, looking up at the horizontal path ahead. "That it holds hostage 'till you pay up with your time and passion."

The corridor they followed entered into another structure. It ceased to have transparent viewing. Doors and intersections to the left and right began appearing in high frequency.

"What are you two gonna do now?"

"Numbuh Five said to meet her at our ship when we were ready to leave." Said Number Four.

"Then this is where we part ways." Number Fore-winds took a left, waving his hand toward them backwards. "Take care."

"Thanks for everything!" Said Number Three cheerfully as she waved goodbye.

He spun around and took his hat off, swinging it around below his waist in a single eloquent motion, "anytime, dear girl." He clicked his heels and skated away.

Numbers Three and Four were left alone. They headed in the direction of the reception zone, which was linked to the main hangar.

Number Four was about to raise a gripe about Number Fore-winds' demeanor toward her, when a message rang out from loudspeakers at every corner of every ceiling. "Emergency broadcast to all KND personnel," said a mechanical voice, in sync with a conspicuous beeping tone. Number Three and Number Four stopped to listen to it. A human voice came from the loudspeakers. "This is Number Three Sixty Two, addressing all operatives currently at the moonbase. There exists a splinter cell in the Kids Next Door, and their aim is to exterminate all adults on earth, good and bad. I bring this up because a recent development had placed them into priority one relevance to all of us. They have so far kept conclusive evidence of their existence a secret, but a recent discovery has blown their lid. I have confirmed the identity of their leader."

They listened intently. The announcement was clearly important. As KND operatives, they were always on call. Whether in school, or asleep, or in a cinema. It didn't matter what they were doing if the call came, if an emergency erupted, then they were on. Unless they were on cookie break.

They weren't on cookie break.

"The leader of the splinter cell is Number Five, A.K.A. Abigail Lincoln. Her colleagues in Sector V are likely accomplices."

"What!" Exclaimed Number Four.

"They are to be apprehended with the utmost prejudice. Any who aid them are to be considered accomplices as well, and therefore the enemy. They are all currently located at Moonbase Zero. The moonbase alert level is hereby raised to eleventy gazillion. This mission is hereby assigned to all available combat teams. Make no mistake that Number Five must not be allowed to escape. Kids Next Door, Battlestations!"

Numbers Three and Four stood there, letting the message sink in. They heard commotion and battle cries erupt at a distance from all different directions.

"Aww," said Number Three, smiling with detached optimism. "None of that is true. I'm sure if we just explain things, they'll all realize it's a misunderstanding."

Number Four looked at her, "Kuki, we gotta move, now!"

* * *

His boy had the kid pinned against the wall. Relaxed, he put a candy cigarette in his mouth. "Numbuh Thousand and Five." he said plainly. One of his other guys put his hand under the cigarette, flicking his thumb up and making a flame on it. He lit the smoke and withdrew his hand. He took a long whiff of the make-believe cigarette, then blew a cloud of make-believe smoke at the face of the kid his boy had pinned to the wall. "Listen, kid, you're gonna tell me everything I want to know. If you refuse, I'm gonna let my boy here do whatever he wants to you."

"B-but I don't know anything!"

"You took that disc into the comm room, and a few seconds later, we all heard the supreme leader paint secta V a bunch of traitors. Don't lie to me." He leaned closer. "It insults my intelligence, makes me upset."

"I didn't know what was on it, I was just sent out to play it."

He immediately crunched down on the candy cigarette, causing the rest of its length to fall out. "By who!" He said through clenched teeth.

"By Numbuh Three Sixty Two."

Feeling slightly unsettled, he let his head hang down. "Numbuh Double-oh Four?"

"He isn't lying." Answered a girl standing behind his right shoulder.

He nodded, his face still sour, "alright, let him go."

His boy let up his grip on the kid. The kid ran off scared. He turned around to face his five people. "So, what do you guys think?"

"A puzzle. I hate puzzles." Said the big guy who was pinning the kid. "Nothin's got any reason to be anythin' but somethin'."

"We don't know nothin' more than you, boss." Said Number Double-oh Four, the lone girl of the group. "Do you have a plan, or what?"

He shrugged absently, "my plan is to crowd-source a plan."

"You don't gotta worry about us, boss." Said Number Thousand and Five, the one with the thumb lighter. "We're behind whatever you decide." He made a mocking expression toward the girl, "right, Double-oh Four?"

"Yeah, whatever." she replied as she turned to face sideways."

He was quiet for a moment, detached from his surroundings. "Numbuh Point-oh One?"

"What is it, boss?" Said a kid who wore a snow hat that concealed his hair, and dropped in parts to cover his ears. The look was completed by his glasses.

"Do we got a bug on the supreme leader?"

"I got a bug on everyone."

"Alright, good." He walked, his team following. "We're gonna go bump into her, see what got this rollin'."

"Shouldn't we do as we're told, and go after sector V?" Said the bigger guy.

"You obviously don't know sector V." Sniped Number Double-oh Four.

"It's true," said Number Thousand and Five. "This burn is like a dragon going after its own teeth. It's gonna get messy."

* * *

Number Eighty Six entered through the door to the room they were convening. The supreme leader had called for a meeting of all officer-ranked operatives. She hoped to ask her what was going on, what with declaring Sector V part of a splinter cell.

Number Three Six Two stood atop a raised platform, looking over the gathering kids. Number Eighty Six noticed a drastic change in her appearance. A difference manifesting entirely in her eyes. They seemed wise, heavy.

Old.

It wasn't an expression that belonged on a kid's face. She paced, surveying the growing crowd beneath her. "Is everyone here? Good."

Number Eighty Six felt a tap on her shoulder. She looked behind to see who it was. It was Number Fore-winds. When she looked at him, he smiled cheerfully, "evening, miss violently-established-as-angrily-docile pants."

"What do you want?" She snapped.

He spread his arms. "Come on, why so-"

"Just shut up." She snapped her head back to look forward.

Number Three Six Two spoke, still pacing. "There is much we need to discuss, but first." She made an eerily exaggerated sigh. "We are to apprehend Number Five, and her team. The specifics of this operation are-"

"Why are we gunning for our own people?" Asked someone from the crowd. The rest of them murmured in agreement, expecting an answer.

She stopped pacing, and faced them with her arms crossed, and her weight distributed evenly to both her legs. "They need to be apprehended because they have turned traitor. I have evidence that they're part of a dangerous splinter cell."

"What evidence? Let's see it!" The crowd got louder, agreeing with the random speaker.

"We don't have time." She replied calmly. "They're still at large right now. Capturing them before they escape is a higher priority than fetching a file and showing it to you all."

"I think you're full of it!" Exclaimed another random speaker.

"Once they are captured, they will be tried. I'll present the evidence to everyone then."

This didn't satisfy the crowd. They got louder, less orderly. Like a herd of animals, each one took up what the other was doing. This effect spiraled upward, becoming less civil by the second. Their noise and commotion became the centerpiece of the chamber, ready to spill its dissatisfaction on its focus: her.

Number Eighty Six reached for her weapon, ready to leap up to the platform, but another hand held her back. Number Fore-winds got in close to her ear. "If you're worried about your friend, then relax. She's got this under control."

Number Three Six Two whipped out a long metal prod, holding it by the base to attain maximum reach. The other end of the prod had a fat head with four evenly arranged prongs. Electricity arced between the prongs at random. She stared them down with a look that brushed away the feeling of safety brought by being a part of a mob. Their proximity to one another suddenly became irrelevant. Every one of them was alone before her, staring her in the face with their individual willpower. Once they were calm, she let them have words: "When a group of any kind partakes in any realistic operation above simple routine, and it wants to operate efficiently, anybody who has worked alongside other people would know that such efficiency is infeasible unless all the decisions are left to one person with one plan and a unified, coherent context. In the interest of efficient operation, all the others choose to put aside their indecision, their personal skepticism, and defer. I've decided that dealing with this emergency is of the highest priority at the moment. However," she swung her long prod in a horizontal motion, waving it in conduction to the crowd. "I remain open to suggestions. If any of you have something to add, or to propose. I will listen." She slammed the head of the prod into the floor, producing a resonant, metallic sound. "If you wish to speak, then step up. If you wish to remain in the crowd, then shut up, and listen along with with the rest.

Everyone in the crowd was pacified. Not one of them stepped up. "I don't get it." Said Number Eighty Six. "Why are they backing down?"

"Because they're no match for her." Answered Number Fore-winds. "She could take any one of them apart."

"But she's only one person. They could overwhelm her."

"That's irrelevant. If they beat her as a mob, it'll prove nothing, and solve even less." He surveyed the crowd with his fingers. "A person is way smarter than people. These people, they don't want to think for themselves. But they do want to feel secure. That's why they're loud, but easy to keep in line." He looked over at Number Eighty Six. "Are you following what I'm saying?"

She scratched her forehead, "My freaking head, what's wrong with you?"

"You're trying, that's good." He turned away. "I must dash."

"What are you doing? You haven't been dismissed." He waved backwards, "I'm off to choose a side." He walked away.

"Where are you going?" Called Number Three Six Two. "You haven't been dismissed." He waved backwards again, at her this time. "Bathroom," he called out with cheerfully emphasized vowels.

She didn't stop him.

* * *

Number Four got down on his knees, and looked around the corner to his left. He saw two armed operatives. They were standing guard outside a door. The door was on the left side of the hall, so with his angle of ingress, they didn't see him. He withdrew his head, and looked at Number Three. He held up two fingers, and moved away from the corner. She took out a ball that was perforated on one half, turning a knob to prime it. Placing the ball in a pressure cannon, she got set by the wall. Then she picked her moment and aimed around the corner at the two guards. She pulled the trigger. the ball shot quietly out of the cannon. It passed behind both the two guard's heads, and flew through the hall. She withdrew back around the corner.

The sound of discharging weapons rang through the halls. They remained calm, and waited a few seconds. Then they peeked around the corner and saw that the guards had run off the other way, in the direction of the noise.

They ran around the corner and stood in front of the now unguarded door. The sign on the door read: Armory.

They looked at each other, and smiled.

[line]

When Number Two heard the announcement that his team was to be hunted down by every operative at the moonbase, he decided the best course of action would be to retrace his steps and get back to his ship. From there, he could establish contact with his teammates. He moved tentatively through the darkened corridors, his gun ready. It he saw anybody, he would blast them. He couldn't trust anyone.

A hand tapped him on the shoulder. He swung around and pointed his gun at whoever it was. When he saw who it was, he lowered it. "Alright, what do you want?" He said impatiently.

Number Fore-winds made an exaggerated shrug and walked past him. "What's your plan, Two?" He stopped and faced him.

"I have nothing to say to you." He moved on.

"Two, wait."

Number Two kept walking, expecting him to follow if he wanted to converse. "Yes?"

"Look, I can help you. You won't all make it out in time."

"I'll take my chances."

"You don't understand, they're about to lock down the moonbase."

Number Two looked at him. "And what reason could you have to help me?"

He lifted his eyebrows. "How about loyalty to my fellow kids next door? You guys didn't do anything wrong."

"A sense of justice? I don't believe it." "Well, how about fear?"

"Fear?"

"Three Sixty Two has gone completely bananas. I don't want to be anywhere near her."

"That's a lot more believable." He meant it. "Let's go."

They walked together, moving casually through the corridors and pass-through rooms. They both knew to act natural so as not to draw suspicion. Under the circumstances, ducking and sneaking would be what would make someone stop them to ask questions. "Now," said Number Fore-winds. "Once you reach the hangar, you need to take off before the lockdown, that is, immediately."

"What about my teammates?"

"Once you're out, head to the commercial district. It's hangar still operates, even during a lockdown. The place is under the KND's protection, but it isn't technically their territory."

"There's no telling how many operatives are out for us right now."

"Three Sixty Two is still organizing them into a fine-toothed comb to hunt you. You guys have a little bit of time."

They advanced through the halls. The corridors were still sparsely inhabited by the occasional passing kid or group. When they encountered other operatives, they both followed the same plan. They acted natural, passing them by like nothing was going on. But they were ready to draw and blast them the second any of them recognized Number Two. It didn't happen. With the moonbase on alert level white, the halls were darkened, and emergency red lighting served faintly as the only source of light.

They emerged to a massive hub room. The room had a huge dome for a ceiling. A formation of vertical hamster tubes penetrated through the center of the room from ceiling to floor. The place was deserted. The snack bar was closed, with access barred by a metal slide door covering the whole thing. Number Two passed through this room earlier that day, right after he came out of the main hangar. But now it was dark, with only the faint, red lighting making everything partially visible. "We're almost to the hangar." Said Number Fore-winds as they crossed the center of the room, passing the hamster tubes closely.

That seemed obvious To Number Two. They left the hangar together earlier that day. He had no reason to point it out to him. They reached the door leading to the main hangar. As they approached, a light above it flashed green, and the door swished open.

Four armed operatives were right beyond it. They had their weapons ready, aimed at Number Two. He spun around and saw five more surround him from behind. He felt like screaming and running. But then he saw the emblems they wore on their hat or around their necks. They were part of the Central Aerospace Corps: Echelon Tangent. He turned to Number Fore-winds. "Hey, these are your guys..."

Number Fore-winds had his handgun aimed at Number Two's face. "Two, if you would kindly hand over your weapons. This won't have to get messy."

The situation became clear to him, "Numbuh Fore-Winds, what are you doing?"

He shrugged with his free arm. "I'm choosing a side, Two."

"You're siding with... you really are a coward!"

"You'll hear no argument from me. Now, your weapon."

He backed up, away from the door. The four operatives he was getting a little distance from moved closer to him to compensate that little bit of distance. Number Two had seen a lot of action, he recognized a wide range of meanings in even the most subtle of human actions. Their moving closer to cover less than a couple of feet signified they didn't have much confidence in their aim. Thoughts rushed through his head. He had to think of something quickly. It was his team against the entire rest of the KND. He couldn't afford to get taken out of the picture, not now. He backed up more, slowly pulling the four past the door further out.

"I'm getting impatient, Two." Said Number Fore-winds. "Your gun, now!"

He pulled them a little more over. They crossed the line into the room. This was his shot. He reached into his two front pockets.

"That's good," said Number Fore-winds. "Take em' out slowly, now."

Number Two slipped them free of his pockets slowly. They weren't guns. He had only a second to throw both objects properly. Once they were clear of his pockets, he swung both his arms, flinging two objects with precise control. One of them went up into the air, and let out a blinding flash. This happened less than a second after it came out of his pocket. The flash impaired the sight of everyone looking in its direction. Number Two's flight goggles seconded for the purpose of looking directly at a welding torch, so the flash didn't effect him as much.

He bolted for the door, going between two of the four kids standing in front of it. He dove through just as it slammed shut behind him.

* * *

Number Fore-winds wiped his eyes. Then blinked several times, trying to make his eyesight come back faster. "Sit-rep, now!"

"He went through the door." Answered one of his teammates.

He looked at the door. He could vaguely see a red light above it. "Why's it locked?" He asked out loud. He went over to the side of the door. His eyesight cleared a bit, and he saw that the door's corresponding panel was busted, hit with an impact grenade. He smiled. "You've proven to be a clever little mouse, Two." He went back in front of the door, and placed a charge on the center of it. "Do we have people in place at the commercial district hangar?"

"In place and alert." Answered another of his teammates.

He flipped a switch on the charge, arming it. "Good, everyone get to your ships. If he takes off, you know what to do.

They complied silently, heading off in the direction of a different hangar.

He backed away from the door, and thumbed a button on a small detonator in his hand. There wasn't a blast, but rather, his charge let out a steady, gradual burn that produced a steady hum. The charge burned through the center of the door, destroying the locking mechanism. Spent, the charge fell off the door. Number Fore-winds put his hands in the hole, and pulled the door open with minimal effort. Once the door was wide open, he double-clicked his heels together, and then took a step. When his foot landed, the shoe had a row of wheels. He put his weight on that row of wheels, rolled a bit, and alternated to another foot to keep balance. The other shoe now had wheels as well. He began skating through the halls. When he got some momentum, he lowered himself with his wheels still rolling him along the floor. "Go, level ten." He said distinctly out loud. The shoes began propelling him on their own. They abruptly sped him up to dizzying speed. Doors and features of the corridor passed by his sight as a continuous blur. He didn't have to worry about turning. It was a straight beeline to the hangar.

He reached the door at the end of the corridor. It was open. When he emerged into the hangar, it felt like he was heading outdoors. Such was the scale of the hangar's ceiling and walls. He sped by columns of landed spacecraft on his left. Without slowing down, he veered left, making a sharp, ninety degree turn into the center of the columns.

He spotted the Blacknose. The ship had both its auxiliary engines out, placing the total count at four. It was airborne, speeding straight away from him, towards the exit. His powered rollerblades were not near as fast as the ship. He took out his handgun, aiming it at his mark. He took seconds, excruciatingly long seconds to aim before he fired. The ship shrank in his view as it got up to speed, nearing the exit.

He fired fired a single shot, the shot went into the exhaust of the top engine of the Blacknose. It lost power in it's upper area, causing it to involuntarily pull up. It slammed against the upper edge of the hangar opening. The ship's antennae broke right off as its long body scraped along. The ship slammed its top engine, located near the back end, on the same obstacle. The entire ship was affected by the impact. It flipped up with violent immediacy. It's forward momentum was still intact, so it made it clear of the hangar entrance, but it lost all control. It flew away, wildly spinning without pattern. Number Fore-winds stopped at the edge of the hangar floor, behind the atmospheric shield. He saw it being pulled into the ground by the moon's gravity. He smiled in satisfaction. A vibration emitted in his pocket. He took out a cell phone and put it to his ear and mouth. "It's good on my end, Z. He's as good as caught."

* * *

Number Five set her heavy bag down. She peeked through the small window on the door to the closet she was hiding in. She spotted two operatives standing right outside. Their uniforms marked them as part of the decommissioning squad. They had recently been helping comb the entire section of the moonbase she was seen last, hunting her along with larger search parties. Neither of them were aware of her presence. She heard one of them speak. "What are you doing here?"

"Guarding this passage." Replied the other operative.

"How's the search going?"

The other operative shook his head. "A nightmare. She's ghosted nine operatives and nobody even caught a glimpse of her. They're at the infirmary, or being taken there right now."

"Then we should probably move in larger groups." "Agreed." They walked away together. "Maybe get some bigger weapons, too..."

The sound of their conversation died off. Number Five bent down, and unzipped her bag. It was stuffed full of foam pellets. She reached into them, and fished out a huge, two-handed gun. The weapon was extremely heavy, and had a segment designed to hook over one's shoulder. It was comprised of two rows, each comprised of a row of fat, yellow, barrel-shaped segments, held together by an external framework comprised of thick metal reebars, which were intersected at welds and bearings. The bearings were capable of moving to a limited degree. The framework seemed a lot stronger and heavier than it needed to be. Number Five reached into the bag, and took out a widely proportioned cone whose continuous side bowed outward all around the middle of its height. There were no inward indents. With a rounded tip, it looked like a futuristic artillery shell. A number was painted on it, reading: A.F.O.O.F.A.: x40. This signified it was a clip for the gun containing forty shots. She placed it into a slot at one of the ends of the gun. It fit perfectly. She then bent the two sections away from each other. The bearings in the framework allowed her to do it with no resistance. She turned them until both the halves combined at the ends into one, straight body. It clicked into place, covering the ammo clip slot. She rested the butt of the gun on the floor. It was now almost as tall as her. An inscription on the short, fat front barrel read: All For One, One For All.

It was an extremely rare gun, originally designed as a third generation to the M.U.S.K.E.T. variant of KND firearms. A weapon that never made it past the prototype stage. It was deemed too unstable for practical use. Its recoil was so strong that any kid that tried to use it got knocked off their feet. Nonetheless, it was extremely powerful, and she needed power.

She leaned the gun against the wall, and took out a pair of earwigs. She put them in her ears, and pressed play on a small electronic device in her pocket. The earwigs began playing music. It began with a steady beat. The beat steadily rose, increasing in tension. Anxiety, premonition of something meaningful to come. This is what the beat conveyed to her mind. She stood in the small closet, looking ahead to the door, what the door lead to, an organization that she had long been part of, one that now hunted her without relent.

She raised her weapon. Then, holding it, she decided to flip the entire gun and swing the shoulder rest under her arm. She held the trigger, now above the body of the gun, with her pinky.

She was within their central headquarters. They were aware of her presence. If they caught her, she would be locked up, tried, and probably decommissioned. The beat rose, getting to the real beginning of the song.

She squeezed the trigger.

The shot roared with earsplitting ferocity. It caused the door to break completely off its frame. It ended up leaning on the wall on the other side of the hall. A steaming, round indent had appeared in the center of it. She wasted no time and stepped out into the corridor. She turned facing right. The noise she had made attracted swarms of operatives. They were gathered at the intersection with their weapons ready to fire in her direction.

At last, following a sound that resembled a wind that quickly became more tense, the lyrics began. She fired her weapon. Holding the trigger down to eliminate any reservation to its rate of fire. Savage noise, and a recoil she could barely hold in check. The squad went down in a matter of seconds. She let up on the trigger. Without pause, she advanced through the corridors, passing over their battered, unconscious figures. She was angry. There weren't a lot of things that could set her off, but being convicted of a crime she didn't do was over the limit. She understood that people could be wrong. But that was all the more reason to not jump to conclusions on serious matters. To her, condemning an innocent was the worst crime anybody was capable of committing. She didn't do anything wrong, and now she was being hunted.

Her friends were being hunted.

The lyrics reached the rise. The song had begun its middle, fielding its energy and spreading to her mind.

She lifted the gun back over her shoulder, where the barrel was on the same level as her eyes, enabling her to aim better. She wrapped her left hand around one of the reebars under the main body. She decided she could keep the Afoofa from pushing up without having to lean her entire body on it.

More armed operatives came into view. She gunned them down without stopping to talk. Her gripper shoes did their job, but holding it steady while it fired still took its toll. She continued her advance along the corridors, gunning down anything that appeared with a weapon ready. She wasn't about to take chances on trying to reason with them.

Automatic gun turrets emerged from the ceiling and walls, aiming their barrels at her. She shot them before they could fire. One shot was all that was necessary to blow one up. She ran the barrel of her gun over them, flicking the trigger in sync with each time it passed over a target. A single shot from the Afoofa was more than enough to blow out a gun turret.

She pulled a switch on the lower part of the handle, causing the latch in the middle of the barrel to release. The center of the gun's main body fell open, automatically ejecting the spent cartridge. She dug into her bag, hanging off her left side, and took out another one. Hearing the noise of the reload, a squad of operatives came out of cover down the hall. They opened fire in her direction.

She already had her own gun reloaded. With disciplined calm, she counterattacked their fire with aimed shots. Every time she flicked on the trigger, the gun unleashed a single shot and an operative went down. She sidestepped and ducked. Slightly, all that was necessary, to avoid their hastily taken shots at her.

The song was afoot, she was in the zone. It would take more than footmen or gun turrets to stop her. She was as susceptible to gunshots as the next kid. But people were slow, and robots predictable.

She continued her steady advance through the corridor, and eventually emerged to a room of immense Scale. It was deserted. The room was round, and almost all empty space. One of the doors in the room was significantly larger than the rest. A sign above it read: Mainstream. The huge door lurched to life. Sliding and emitting the sound of powered motion along with metallic screeching. It opened slowly, revealing a hulking metal hull that appeared to be suspended high in the air. The door continued to open, revealing further a pair of legs with wide feet supporting it. The knees pointed backwards in a design similar in appearance to a chicken's legs. The front of the body imposed it's tall, horizontally rounded off nose over her. The frontward sides of the nose, at mid-height, had a pair of lenses for the pilot to see. Attached to the sides of the body, above the legs, were a pair of long, oversized cannons.

Number Eighty Six's arm, then her head, could be seen coming out of a hatch near the frontal part of the roof of the mech. She settled her arms on the front edge with her upper body sticking out through the opening. She looked down on Number Five. "This is the end of the line, Abby."

Number Five plucked her earwigs out and let them hang off her shirt collar.

"I highly suggest you give yourself up."

A swarm of operatives came into the room through every other door. They formed a wide perimeter around Number Five, surrounding her with a wall of pointed guns.

Number Five looked up at the ceiling, then back at Eighty Six. "I'm defending myself. I haven't got anything to do with any splinter cell." She said flatly, quietly.

Number Eighty Six Shook her head. "Rachel says otherwise, should I call her a liar?"

"Should you just accept everything she says, without limit? Are you really that weak? That reliant?" Number Five spoke harshly, in angry outburst. Normally, she wouldn't bother, but she and Number Eighty Six had an acquaintanceship. They understood one another.

"She wouldn't call for something like this if she wasn't certain," replied Number Eighty Six. "I'm sorry, Abigail, but you're a suspect, I can't trust anything you say."

Number Five was reminded of words she heard earlier that day: _Our enemy is an old, traditional establishment, with the excuse to assert that those who oppose them are rebels and contrarians who don't want peace and don't stand for anything._ "No, you listen to me!" She hissed. "If I can't call you off on the ground that it's the proper thing to do, then here's my ultimatum." She turned to look left, and right, surveying the operatives surrounding her. "This is your last chance, and I mean your last, to back off, and let me go. If you do not, then I'll have to beat every last one of you to a shivering, sniveling pulp!" It didn't matter that Number Eighty Six's assumptions were reasonable. It didn't change the fact that she was wrong. She set the Afoofa on its butt to the floor, and held it like it was her pike.

"And here's mine." Rebutted Number Eighty Six, feeling challenged. "You're in no position to make any demands. You have one chance, and I mean one, to put your weapon down, and surrender." She swept her arm in a horizontal arc in indication. "You're outnumbered, outgunned, and surrounded. Your only choices, now, are these: resist, and get gunned down, or surrender, and not get gunned down." They had their weapons ready to fire. There was about two score of them.

And only one of her.

She smiled, slightly, discreetly, "I have my answer, then." She set her foot on the handle of her gun, pressing down the trigger.

The booming noise of a gunshot rang through the chamber, into the ears of everyone present.

It was more than enough to provoke retaliation, "fire!" Shouted Number Eighty Six.

_Requires courage, character, and conviction to uphold._

Every operative in the room squeezed their triggers, unleashing their firepower upon the rebel in the center.

And the whole chamber went pitch black.

* * *

When Number Two regained consciousness, he was sitting in the cockpit of the Blacknose. The entire room was crooked; not level. He checked the TV in front of the pilot's seat. It was intact. As he shook his head awake, he reached over to a switch on the dashboard beneath the TV, and flipped it down.

Nothing happened.

He flipped it back up again, causing the system to reboot. The television activated. The bottom half of the screen was all black, but the top half showed a view of his ship from behind. It was crashed into the surface of the moon. The top auxiliary engine was smashed up, the bottom was run through the ground, but the main hull looked intact. A thick cable came out of the rear of the ship. It wound its way toward the lens, ending right beneath its view.

A towship came into view, stopping right above the Blacknose. It had two giant c-clamps attached to its lower hull. It hovered over the Blacknose, lowering the grips level to the sides of its hull. It closed its clamps on the body. Number Two heard the noise, and felt the impact produced by what he saw on screen. Several other ships appeared in his view. They hovered around the towship in formation, escorting it.

He had to assume there were more out of his view. He got out of the pilot's chair, and went through the two powered doors into the main room. It was deserted, as he's hoped. The main hull seemed to still be sealed tight. He went to the console to the left of the cockpit door. Leaning over the chair, he rapidly pressed keys on the control board. A diagnostic screen of the entire ship appeared on the screen. He flipped through the data screens, which were updated in real time. The status of the top and bottom engines were red, as were half of the prongs around the nose. Beyond that, every other area was either yellow or green, meaning they were functional.

The entire ship shook, and he felt a slight lift as the floor became level again. The towship had already picked him up. He didn't have much time.

Once he skimmed all the diagnostic windows, he headed over to the other console, which was on the right of the door to the cockpit. He picked up the headset and held it to his mouth. "Activate the top and bottom autocannons."

The ship complied. He heard mechanical movement from the upper and lower of the ship. "Designate target." Requested the computer in a mechanical voice.

Number Two smiled evilly, "Everything with a friendly IFF tag." Every other KND ship had a friendly IFF tag. He heard the guns open fire.

He didn't have much time before the enemy ships retaliated. He rushed back into the cockpit, and landed himself on the pilot's seat, using the momentum of his crashing on the seat to spin it around and roll it up to the pilot's console. The TV was now fullscreen, albeit with some of the moon's sediment clouding the bottom half. The towship was carrying the Blacknose forward. This caused the cable to fly up, enough for the cameras on the end to have the angle to see both ships. Number Two saw the autoguns on his roof and belly firing at targets offscreen.

He reached under the cover, and switched off two of the keys. They were for the top and bottom engines. He didn't want to even try starting them. The top was flattened on the front, and the bottom was inhaled full of moon crap. The keys were just for power clearance. All of the engines used the same starter. He pulled out a knob low on the front side. And watched watched a needle gauge with no markings steadily rise up, in sync with a rising hum.

He released the knob, and the gauge went back to the bottom, then flipped back up to full as the engines came to life. He saw the left and right engines turn green on the simplified diagnostic readout on the TV. He picked up the remote. Even with just two of its engines, the towship wouldn't be able to hold the Blacknose at full thrust. The towship could pick up other ships, and carry them. But the Blacknose possessed flight stats in a league of its own.

Number Two pulled down both triggers of his remote. The ship on the screen obeyed. It shot forward with a life of its own. Tore against the grip of the towship with frustration of its own. It's autoturrets on the roof and belly fired on the surrounding ships with an anger of its own. The fighters all around him were smaller than the Blacknose, and all had forward-fixed weaponry, meaning it would take them time to get far enough and then turn around to make a pass on him. Their formation to escort the towship was meant to engage enemy craft on the outside, not from within.

Number Two adhered to the idea that every plane had a soul of its own. Although he built it himself, if the Blacknose were a person, and it asked him to be its wife, he'd say yes.

Its camera tail was nice and horizontal. He could see just fine through the lenses near the tip. The towship was still hanging onto him. His ship was moving, but it had to propel and maneuver for them both.

He saw a few shots from off-screen hit his hull, and felt the resulting rumbling and noise within the interior. He was still a sitting duck. The first two engines were in use. The next two were shot. However, the control board had eight keys. He reached under the dashboard, and turned on the bottom four keys one by one. As he turned on the keys, four different panels opened around the ships rear area above and below the wings. Four fresh engines emerged in the four diagonal directions. From a horizontal perspective, this formation completed the arrangement of the engines into a full oval. They deployed out a bit further toward the front than the others, covering the main body in a way that made it seem less protruded from the wingspan.

Once the engines locked in place, Number Two Pulled out the start rod, causing the two on the wings to shut off. Another volley of shots passed by his view through the camera just in front of his plane. Some of them hit the nose. The black nosecone tore open, letting light into the cockpit through the windshield.

He released the knob.

The ship bolted forward beyond all deliberation. The grip of towship was strong, but its bond to its own clamps failed it. The entire ship tore in half, and the clamps loosened without their source of hydraulic pressure. The Blacknose flew away, leaving behind the towship and its broken off pieces.

He veered the Blacknose left and ascended, spiraling it up into high orbit. The sensor HUD in the corner of the screen indicated friendly IFF tags following his six, ascending in a straight beeline toward him. He smiled with confidence. They had no idea what they were screwing with.

As soon as he was satisfied with his altitude, he held down the shoulder buttons on his remote, and pulled both thumbsticks down in symmetrical sync. The ship spun a 180 without altering or slowing its upward momentum. It now faced straight down at his pursuers. Number Two pressed a button to power up his frontward cannons. There was no dedicated 'fire' button. The computer automatically judged when to fire. Number Two had been developing the software for it during a small fraction of his immense free time in the past week. Its aim was perfect in all the tests he made on it. This firing method allowed the pilot to focus less on when to fire and when not to fire, which he saw as a pointless distraction from the actual mental work of a pilot.

He continued holding the shoulder buttons, moving the facing of his ship along the tightly arranged formation of enemy fighters converging in their ascent to pursue him. As his aim went over each one of them, a pair of energy weapons fired rapidly out of cannons mounted on his inward wingspan. With pinpoint accuracy, every one of the rapidly fired shots hit into the fighters below. Three of them went down, the rest wisely scattered. Number Two let go of the shoulder buttons, and the next second pulled both triggers. The ship accelerated downward, back toward the moon. The other ships were wolves, and he, a raging lion.

The hunt was on.

* * *

It happened in a moment of panic. The panic led to a chain reaction of distractions that made the moment short, yet agonizingly long in retrospect. The second she shouted the order to fire, right after Number Five fired her gun in answer to her surrender demand, the entire room went black. The operatives opened fire. The noise of the initial shot, and the lights suddenly going out agitated them, making them fire their guns more. It didn't help when Number Eighty Six, after getting back to her pilots seat, switched on her mechs spotlights in order to see.

Operatives went down by the dozen in the open firefight. Their friendly fire was a freak accident, hidden from each individual by the darkness, and prolonged by their panic.

"Hold your fire!" She shouted at them. They didn't listen. There was already too much noise. She decided to find Number Five herself. She turned the head of her mech, surveying its spotlights throughout the span of the floor. Its frontline assault guns were ready to fire the second she spotted her. Well-aimed shots from an unseen source came onto the remaining operatives, adding to the confusion. Eventually, there were only a few operatives left on their feet. Number Eighty Six searched more frantically. All she needed was one shot. More shots came down, picking off the stragglers as her light came over them. Wherever Number Five was hiding, Number Eighty Six was inadvertently helping her.

But she would have the last laugh. All she needed was one clear shot. The mechs cannons were deadly, and could fire like shotgun blasts. If Number Five showed one hair of her person, she was done.

She felt a hard tap to the back of her helmet. Nobody else was crewing the mech. Hastily, she turned around to see who it was.

It was Number Five.

She had a small pistol; a first generation M.U.S.K.E.T, aimed at her face. Her larger gun was slung over her shoulder by a strap. Number Eighty Six looked up at the hatch on the ceiling past the small upper catwalk. It was open. She looked back at Number Five. "How could you move so fast? It's only been like ten or twenty seconds."

Number Five shook her head impatiently. "I just did, Fanny, now..." She grabbed her by the shirt, her gun still aimed at her face. Then she pulled her over to her right, and pushed her up against the wall. "Now, you're gonna tell me everything I wanna know." She had her finger steady on the trigger. With her other hand, she beckoned with her fingers.

Understanding the nature of the gesture, she handed her sidearm, handle first, to Number Five's free hand.

She took the gun, and tossed it to her right, toward the rear of the mechs interior where it would be out of the way. "Are you going to answer my questions?"

She lowered her head. "You've beaten me. I'll talk."

"Good, the burn on me and my team came from Rachel's mouth. Was it really her that put out the order?"

"Yes."

"Has she been acting strange?"

"Yes, just recently, after assigning us all to apprehend you."

Number Five flicked her whole facing down, pacing in a tiny line while still holding her gun up. "And knowing this, why would you still do what she says? You should be smarter than-"

"I'm fully aware there's something wrong with her." She rebutted. "That's all the more reason I made my decision. What kind of friend would I be if I abandoned her, knowing full well she's in trouble?"

"It's not abandonment if you refuse to go gunning for your own comrades. She would be the one abandoning you. By not being who she really was. You should have resisted, denied the wishes of something that was clearly a problem to her as well."

Number Eighty Six shook her head. "In any other circumstance, you would have a point. But you haven't seen what she's become in person. She's declared war, not just against you, but against our entire way of doing things. If I'm not with her, then I'm against her."

"And when did you plan on helping her with whatever's come over her?"

"The things she's said to us, it's radical, but it all kind of rings true. It's like she's awakened to things that we've long forgotten. My plan was to learn more about this change."

"Said things, like what?"

"You'll have to hear it from her yourself. I couldn't begin to describe it."

Number Five remained quiet for moments, occupied with thought. "I've decided, then. I'm not getting anything from you. I'm going to confront her. Where is she?"

She felt an impulsive defiance well up. "I'm still on her side, Abby, and the war is still on. I won't rat her out."

Number Five shot her in the gut. It stung like a slap that slammed like a raging bull. "Don't think I've forgotten my warning. Answer the question."

She clasped her gut, bending over it. "What the math is wrong with you? That was uncalled for!"

"Why, are you yelling?"

"You just freakin' shot me!"

She pat her on the shoulder in consolation, "sorry, Fanny, but we're at war. If I'm not against you, then I'd have to be with you."

She stood up straight again. "Well, I guess it doesn't hurt too much. She's at the command bridge."

"And where is that?"

She spread her arms, "how could I possibly direct you to it?"

"North? South?"

"We're on the moon, Abby!"

"Oh, right..."

After a brief pause, they both laughed. Number Eighty Six felt her mood lighten up. "There's a door leading to it at the mainstream highway. You'll know when you see it."

"Thanks, Fanny. I just need one more thing."

"Yeah? What?"

"I'm commandeering your walker. Get out."

* * *

Numbers Three and Four moved through the moonbase. Whenever they passed by any conversation being made by the patrols, they slowed down, and eavesdropped. They didn't have to worry about fighting them, as they were safely in disguise. They both wore face-concealing suits of armor that they swiped from the armory. Anybody coming up to talk to them posed a risk of blowing their cover. But they found that nobody did that as long as they walked hastily, appearing busy.

They learned from their eavesdropping that the moonbase was in full lockdown. Their original plan was to make their way to the main hangar in order to escape. But now they had to change their plan. They decided to find Numbers Two and Five.

They overheard talking around the next corner. They hugged up to the end of the wall, and brought their ears as close to the sound as they could without being seen. Eavesdropping was suspicious, whether you belonged there or not, so they remained out of sight. They overheard talk of almost fifty operatives getting wasted at a mainstream parking chamber. Their voices became uneasy after this was mentioned. The codename, Number Five, was spoken, hushed and hesitantly, as though they were talking about a boogieman they had only just experienced and awoken from. They mentioned that she was moving up the mainstream in a hijacked Megadohdoh.

At the same time, they moved away from the corner. They looked at each other, and nodded.

* * *

He and two of his people were moving through a narrow passage. They had just left from bumping into Number Three Sixty Two at the command bridge. He had sent the rest of his boys out on tasks right after the meeting.

"Man, was she actin' like some kind of whack-job, or what?" Said Number Thousand and five out loud.

"Yeah," concurred Number Double-oh Four. "What are we gonna do about it, boss?

"We do as we've been ordered."

They didn't object or complain. He had spoken, and that was that.

He observed, what was the beauty of it all. He was walking through an artificial realm. It was as a whole, a giant tin can in terms. There was nothing he saw that wasn't, in reality, crude, metallic, and crafted by fallible humans. But none of that stopped him from seeing the beauty of it all. He spoke to the two people following him. "Isn't it all just so beautiful?"

Number Thousand Five replied to his remark: "You okay, boss? You're having another weirdo trip."

He turned his head to look at him. "Is that all you see right now, is my weirdo trip?" He turned back and shook his head, "disappointing."

"We're at the moonbase, Second-Born, the freaking moonbase!" said Number Double-oh Four, tailing behind him. "There's better things out there to get sentimental over. Better than..." She spread her arms, "a plain metal passage."

He flicked his hand away without looking at her. "What you can, when you can. Nobody's alive forever."

"I think you're dodging the point. A memory would be better than this. Why not enjoy one of those?" "Because I'm at peace with those. I could dig into my memories, and before I know it, I'm a grown-up who wonders why time seemed to pass so quickly. You're a smart girl, that's why I chose you to be in sector SICI. So I think you'll understand when I say that the past is something that's supposed to keep on growing. For that to happen, there needs to be a present."

"That all sounds like metaphysical nonsense to me," she replied.

He looked right at her as the three of them kept walking. "Wherever you are, just be there."

"And that's just a bromide, with finite, indecisive meaning."

Number Thousand and Five interjected: "Alright, Numbuh Double-oh Four. There's something biting at you, what is it?"

"What's biting me?" She looked ahead at Number Second-Born. "Thinking less of someone is a really crappy feeling, and I'm afraid of feeling it of the boss."

"Is that so?" He said. "What did I do to provoke such negative feelings?"

"That girl, Number Five, you walked right up to her, and then you shook hands with her. You once said that your handshakes weren't cheap. I didn't sense a lie when you said that, so have you changed? ...degraded, perhaps?"

"Have you heard of Number Five? She's pretty impressive." Said Number Thousand and Five.

"I've seen her record, but," she walked a bit ahead, up close to him. "The number of people I've seen you shake hands with can be counted on a single hand. She was nowhere near their level."

He smiled at her. "Observe your choice of words; was. This serves to reinforce my earlier point. Your attention is stuck on the past."

"Stop confusing the issue. That doesn't change what you did."

"Not all motivation comes from the past or present."

"Stop talking in riddles. Just admit you were wrong." "Soon, I won't be. Closure to your quandry is not a petty victory in an argument, which would gratify you, and then bring us both further from the truth, but the realization that I simply see more than you do."

"I can read other people just fine. You have no one-up on me in that department."

"Ah, but you're slightly, yet fundamentally, detached from the present. You don't see the future like I do."

"Even if that were true, what's that have to do with anything?

He walked ahead with confidence. "Time will prove me right. In the future, it will become an honor to have had the chance to shake that girl's hand."

They reached the end of the passage. It was an open entry to a much larger chamber; a tunnel of massive proportions. It went to his left, and to his right, with the entrance he emerged from serving merely as a sideways entry point. He knew where they were, the heavy duty high traffic road of the moonbase. They had reached the mainstream.

Operatives moved along the road in formation. They were all coming from his right, and moving downhill to the left in a continuous right curve. Their hasted march heralded the sound of thundering footsteps as a giant, bipedal mech became visible to the right. It was being escorted by several support teams who were busting their humps to keep pace with it.

He came out from the tiny passage, onto the main road. He approached one of the operatives, and put his hand on his shoulder. "Hey, soldier."

The operative stopped walking, and turned to him. "What do you want?"

"Give me a sit-rep on the current situation."

Realizing he might be an officer, he saluted. "Sir, the enemy has hijacked a Megadohdoh, and is currently traveling up the mainstream. We're moving to intercept."

The giant mech lumbered past them, moving along the road and letting out a distinct impact noise with each step.

"With a Megadohdoh of your own?"

"Yeah, I thought that was obvious. We can't allow the enemy to reach the command and control bridge."

"I see, thank you for your time, as you were."

He saluted again, and resumed moving along with the others.

He turned around to talk to his people. "Looks like we're in for a show. We're gonna follow these guys, and see how their fight plays out."

"You sure we're not gonna end up collateral damage?" Asked Number Thousand and Five.

He turned around and walked. They followed. "If the fight turns out like I predict, it's gonna be real short."

* * *

Number Five walked along the mainstream. Her mech lumbered beside her, on her left. She had left a prop to hold down the forward pedal. It was on total autopilot. It automatically corrected its steps to stay aligned with the constantly winding and curving mainstream.

The Mainstream was wider than it was tall, with perfectly smoothed floor and ceiling. The walls were half-oval shapes that capped the sides of the sizable tunnel.

She was nearing the control bridge, nearing her target. She didn't enjoy fighting her own comrades in the slightest. She clenched her teeth, and glared ahead in frustration. I'll get to the bottom of this, she promised herself. I'll set things right.

She heard a new set of thundering footsteps. The noise picked up, got closer. Then she saw it. Another giant mech, of the same model she had commandeered. It was accompanied by a throng of operatives on foot. They were in her way. In between her, and the truth, her, and getting to the bottom of the whole mess. They thought she was the mess, thought they had to deal with her. She was the only one who knew enough to truly solve the problem. Therefore she had to win, had to obliterate them.

The need welled up inside her, and she felt a determination of the kind that could only be felt in moments of great exception, when faced with overwhelming adversity.

She charged ahead. She didn't have a strategy, in the conventional sense. She simply knew which endeavor needed to be focused on in order to win. Their attention, the attention of her adversaries, were focused on the mech that went ahead, and heralded her coming.

The coming of a ghost.

She unslung the Afoofa off her shoulder. Then aimed it at the ceiling. There were two lines of light bulbs built into it. They both ran the entire length of the mainstream. She shot one of the bulbs on the right line. The shot buried itself through the bulb. This caused every other bulb ahead of it in the same row to lose power. Safely in the shadows on the right lane of the mainstream, she dashed toward the enemy formation. The apprehension brought by their close proximity to her was dampened by her experience in stealth. She knew how to have faith in concealment and distraction.

She ran up the wall, deeper into the darkness. Her gripper shoes gripped and let go with perfect timing. She ran almost up to the halfway point of the wall. The operatives didn't notice her. She was barely visible, and her mech was much more so. She came up beside the enemy's mech. But its top deck was very much higher than where she was. She couldn't afford to walk up and climb it, she would be spotted if she did. She had to jump.

She jumped. As she released off the wall, an inhibition born earlier that day made her suddenly want to regret what she did. In retaliation, she swung the Afoofa under her feet, the barrel aimed backward and down. She gripped the trigger and held it. It fired repeatedly in rapid consecutive discharges. The recoil propelled her up further, shooting her well above the top deck of the enemy mech. She arced into a landing unto it. Four operatives were on top of it. They noticed her. In disciplined retaliation, they brought their guns up and fired at her. Her gun was pointed in the wrong direction to fire at them. She had to hit the ground and get some leverage to make aiming the gun feasible. Several of their shots hit her, causing a painful, frustrating sting that made her flinch. She didn't think it was possible to fall so slowly.

She finally hit the deck, and brought her large gun to bear. The first two in her sight were close together. She shot them both in rapid succession, knocking them off.

There were still two more behind her. She wheeled around with the Afoofa in one hand, and her pistol in the other. The second they were in her sights, she shot them both simultaneously. The one hit by the Afoofa got knocked off the deck, and the other flinched. She shot him again, then again. He backstepped with each hit until he fell off the deck.

She lowered the Afoofa to let its front barrel rest on the deck. Holding it up with one arm was too much. She felt amazed that not one of the four of them shot her after she landed on the deck. Then she threw the feeling aside. They were just slow.

The mech beneath her lifted its foot up to take another slow, lumbering step. Then she saw both its main cannons fire just as the foot landed. She looked ahead, and saw that the guns were lined up perfectly. The focused shots hit both the legs of her own mech in the joints. It collapsed, burying its tall nose into the floor, before flopping its belly down and tipping sideways. The sizable force of operatives charged ahead and swarmed around the now crippled machine. They moved slowly, oh, so slowly, dramatically, inefficiently. If they weren't her enemies she would be perturbed by their tardiness.

She came to the hatch of the mech, and lifted it open. After the lid settled on leaning away from the hole, She hopped into the interior. There was only one pilot inside. A long, and wide blond braid hung down from her head. She was oblivious to Number Five's intrusion. Number Five didn't need to squeeze info out of this one. She slung the Afoofa over her shoulder, and put her pistol in her dominant hand as she walked briskly toward the pilot. The pilot finally caught wind of her presence, and turned around. Seeing Number Five, she reached over for her gun in its holster. Number Five shot it right out of her hand.

Startled further, the pilot put her hands up in surrender. "Wow, you're fast." She remarked.

Number Five wanted to say: No, you're just slow. Because it certainly felt to her that she was slow. But she didn't like insults, so she just said: "Vacate the cockpit."

The pilot complied. She walked briskly to the hatch up top. She was too slow. She could go faster.

"C'mon, faster." She jibed.

She broke into a full run, and scrambled up the ladder to the hatch.

That's a little better, she thought. She turned around to the controls. There was a pair of joysticks, two pedals, a keyhole, and a series of knobs on the control board. She looked out the viewing slits. The operatives on foot were opening the hatch on the other mech. They swarmed into its interior, eager to finally defeat their nuisance: her.

She turned a knob, and it widened the projected shot trajectory shown on one of the screens.

The army of operatives crowded closer around the ruined mech, they cheered as their comrades busted its hatch off.

Number Five pushed the joysticks forward, lowering the body's facing. She flipped up the covers on the top ends, and pressed the buttons underneath.

The main guns fired on them, in heavy energy blasts that scattered in outward cone shapes. Nearly all of the operatives were hit. Some were knocked unconscious, others fell down and looked at the source of the blast in terrified shock, others ran. Despite the different reactions, the overall result was the same: They were put into rout. After a count of five seconds, both cannons were ready to fire again. She fired again. At this point, all of them were either unconscious, running away, or already gone.

Satisfied it was enough to get them out of her way, Number Five went back over to the ladder. She climbed up it, and pulled herself onto the top deck with a quick, efficient hoist. She surveyed her surroundings. The pilot she kicked out was still standing on the deck. She had her back to Number Five, and was looking over at the scene of the crippled mech and the defeated army of footmen. "I tried to warn them." She said without looking back. She shook her head, causing her large braid to sway. "They wouldn't listen to me."

Number Five didn't hear anything from inside the cockpit. There was no way they would have heard her. She walked up to the pilot, and put a hand on her shoulder. The pilot looked at her, and she smiled. "Don't beat yourself up over it."

"You... you're the leader of the splinter cell."

She smiled and lifted her eyebrows. "That's right! And any second, I'll whistle and call over my hordes of splinter cell goons, and then we'll shake people down for their lunch money, and be extra mean to all of the cutest little puppies."

A slightly fragmented laugh broke its way through her sombre mood.

"The reason you couldn't warn them, is the reason I had to use force against them; you can't talk to a mob."

"Yeah, I guess that makes sense, but it's still frustrating. I mean- they were my comrades. I could have helped them. Maybe if I'd tried harder, or made a better decision..."

Number five walked up to her side, and indicated the crippled mech with her forward arm. "You, are an excellent operator of these. If it were my walker against yours, you'd have won, no doubt on my mind. Whoever assigned you to pilot this one made a good call."

She formed a smile, slightly, in her eyes. "Thanks."

"I gotta go now, take care." Number Five patted her on the shoulder, and walked toward the ladder. She swung over the edge, and climbed down, looking ahead to her mission. She reached the bottom of the ladder, and then kicked the roll on the bottom edge of the main body. It unfurled into a rope ladder that went the rest of the distance.

She reached the floor, and continued her advance. To her back: a ruined battlemech, a vacant one, and a routed, broken army threescore strong.

Ahead of her: the truth.

Three kids awaited her a bit further down the road. She recognized them, and was relieved to see that they probably didn't mean to fight her. The one in the middle walked a bit closer to her. He spoke: "Good to see you again, Numbuh Five."

She stopped. "Yeah, likewise. Numbuh... Second-Born, was it?"

He smiled. Not a real smile, but one that trusted the other person's insight enough to expect them to know it. "Let's get right to business, both our time is valuable, here."

"Yeah, let's. What do you want?"

"A couple answers. When you reach the control bridge, and you confront the one who's been doing this, what are you gonna do?"

"Learn the truth."

"And once that's settled?"

"I'm gonna adhere to it. Make the appropriate response."

He clapped his hands a single time. "Then our interests are aligned!" He pinched something in his sleeve, and slipped out a AA battery. Half of it was perforated and hollow. He presented it to her. "I want you to have this."

She took it. "What for?"

"All I ask is that you keep it with you."

She looked at closely, and then put it in her bag. "Sure, I guess it's too tiny to be a bomb or something."

He walked past her, his two people following. His people's expressions were professional; aware of the situation, yet personally indifferent to her.

"Second-Born," called Number Five without looking back.

He stopped.

"Which side are you on?"

He took a moment to reply. "The Kids Next Door, same as you."

* * *

Number two slipped his trajectory into the perfect lineup. His prey was making a tight turn, but was already doomed. He tightened his pursuit at the right time, causing his forward facing to pass over the other ship for a second. His frontward cannons shot it three times in that long second. As a result, its wing got blown off. It went down.

From the third-person perspective of his ship, Number Two saw, and then immediately felt the impact of a pair of small missiles hitting his upper hull. they knocked out his upper gun turret. He swerved in the other direction, and then he saw two more missiles just miss him.

What he saw next unsettled him. It was a ship, only slightly smaller than the Blacknose. It passed right over his ship. He was moving in an extremely tight curve. The only way the other ship could pass over his top is if it were turning even more tightly. And it was. It had four square-shaped engine sections distributed evenly onto the four diagonal sides of the main hull. They were connected to the hull by exposed framework. Even a single one of them was bigger than the ships main hull, which was concealed everywhere by them except the front third of its length where they didn't reach over. Words painted on the rear of the main hull labeled it as: Four Winds.

The ship accelerated and left Number Two's sights. His radio began to produce static, then a voice became legible on it: "Two, are you on this channel?"

Number Two recognized the voice. "Numbuh Fore-winds you son of a-"

"Hold that thought, Two, I got something to say, first."

"I don't wanna hear anything you have to say."

"Whatever, do you know what 'dumbing down' is?"

Number Two straightened his ship and idled the engines. "Yes, I do."

"What, then?"

"An adjustment applied to an item for the purpose of allowing it to accommodate people of lesser intellect or ability, in order to broaden the usability of said item."

"No, let me tell you. The only answer anybody needs to know is this: Dumbing down is dumb, it has always been dumb, and it shall always be dumb. If there's one thing it will always be a crime to accommodate, it's man's capacity to be inadequate."

"What's your point?"

"My point is this, I didn't come out here aboard the Four Winds to shoot down a dumbed down piece of junk. Lose the tail, and lose the nosecone. Fly that thing like it was meant. Then we can fight."

"That would take take time."

"You get a two minute ceasefire, starting... now."

Number Two looked at his watch, the second hand struck 12 just as Number Fore-winds called a start to the ceasefire. He looked at the screen, which presented a third person view of the ship from the perspective of camera lenses on the end of a slack tail. Then he looked at his damaged nosecone, at the beams of light coming into the dark cockpit. He asked himself which he preferred. He liked video games just fine, but flying was different. "Shoot," he said to himself. Fore-winds was right. He nearly turned his best plane into something less. It just wasn't made for the dualshock controller.

He stood up, and wrapped his arms around the TV. There were only two cords plugged into it, for power, and video feed. He unplugged them and let them fall. Then he picked up the Television, and carried it to the back corner. He went back up to the control deck. The original controls were covered by a black dashboard. It was featureless, other than several holes cut into it to show the gauges. He tore the whole thing clean off. The remote was plugged into a rigged up receiving port suspended on the end of its cord under the dashboard. He unplugged it. Now free to use all the controls on the dashboard, he surveyed his hand over the levers and switches. There were at least a dozen switches and two dozen buttons. He never planned out so many controls when he built a plane, always got carried away adding new features In the building process. It was rare if his originals were ever the same as their blueprints. He found the button he was looking for. When he was building the Blacknose, he thought it would be a bright idea to put a flamethrower on the nose. He couldn't remember his exact mindset when he decided to add something so extraneous, perhaps he was trying to make the Superman of spacecraft.

He pressed the button, and his windshield was flooded with a blindingly bright pool of flame. As abruptly as it came, the flame dissipated to reveal a vivid view of the outside. The nosecone was gone, exposing an original nose build around the cockpit. The nose was clean cut, a symmetrical polygon with many obtuse edges. It shone like spit polish, and was colored dark as ebony. One couldn't know at first glance whether it was composed of black gemstone, or simply well polished.

Number Two checked his watch, he had one minute left on the ceasefire. He took a pair of handles. They moved in place like joysticks, and were attached to tubes that were able to slip downward and upward against spring loads. The tubes were angled diagonally, making it comfortable to slide them down and up by the handles. They were also able so spin in place. Every possible motion made by this set of controls maneuvered the ship in a different way. He couldn't wait to test his true plane against a real opponent.

"Hey," Number Fore-winds was still on the line, "you ready to rock?"

"Look," he said toward the radio, "I need to ask, why did you do it?"

"Do what?"

"You know exactly what I mean!" He accelerated his ship toward the moonbase, browsing for Number Fore-winds' ship.

"You mean lie to your face? It's espionage one oh one, man. It almost finished you, except then you pulled an impressive fast one."

"No, I mean that you know there's no splinter cell."

"Yeah, I know."

"So me and my friends are innocent!"

"Correct."

"So then why are you doing this?"

"What the hell kind of question is that?"

"What? It's a very simple question!" "Are my motivations somehow dubious? Why, because they violate some inconsistent standard of yours I couldn't possibly be aware of?"

"You're perfectly capable of seeing my standards."

"Yeah, your standards, your motivations. What's your point?"

"Stop trying to confuse the issue. What are your motivations for knowingly siding with a lie? It's a fair question."

"Sure it is, but a better question would be this: If I helped you instead, what could possibly be my motivation for doing that?"

"It'd be... the right thing."

"And what makes your side in this the right one?"

He leaned forward over his control deck. "I know the truth."

"No, you don't. You have no idea why you're being hunted."

"Yes, I do. Numbuh Three Sixty Two has been turned into an evil delightful. I have evidence to prove it."

"I'm sure you do have evidence of it. All truths leave evidence of their existence."

"So you already know that, too?"

"Yes."

"Then why!"

"Crap-nabbit, Two! I'm sick of your whining!"

"What, because I'm right?"

"Listen up, Two, I'm only gonna explain this once."

Number Two completed a full circle around the moonbase. No sign of Fore-winds' ship.

"When I signed up for the KND, I agreed to delegate my freedom to the cause, and by extension the orders of my superiors. But I didn't understand that, then. I was high on my own intellect, and quite happy to be a condescending brat who pressed everyone's buttons. I was happy with having little responsibility, and a reputation as the resident annoyance.

"But then she came along, and singled me out to have a talk. I expected another crummy lecture about how I ought to 'correct my behavior' because it would be oh, so flipping 'logical if I did that'. Perhaps followed by some kind of assinine trial where everybody comes to realize on their own pathetic pace that I never technically broke any written rules.

"But that's not what she did. She actually promoted me! Put me in charge of the aerospace corps. I said: 'That's an unwise decision. Why would you promote me, of all people?' And she asked me: 'Why do you think my decision is unwise?' She said it with a straight face, without a hint of sarcasm."

"Because you were widely regarded as a punk and an annoyance. The position should have gone to someone more qualified." Said Number Two.

"Naturally, my answer would be just that. But I held my tongue. I realized in that moment that I didn't actually want to think that of myself. And so I accepted the promotion, and decided that from then on, I would be a dedicated, upstart example. And I would take crap from people who knew me from the past gracefully on the chin. That's what I'm doing now, Two. That's why I can't make a traitor of myself."

"If it's about loyalty, then that's all the more reason to turn. You know there's something wrong with her, and you know what she's doing is wrong by her standards as well-"

"Enough! Why on earth would I want to switch sides to you, Number Two? Do you know what your CO has been doing? I've been getting reports, you know. She's actively resisting, fighting like a mad dog to the point they're mobilizing everything they've got to stop her. And her only words, her only negotiation before that was a once warning. That, is, awesome!

"And then I see you, Two, reacting to the same situation by just sitting there and going, 'I didn't do anything wrong!' Over, and over again. I think I know what kind of person you are. You go through life leaning on one foot at a time, finding actual humor in even the most mindless of jokes. You embellish and romanticize all of the petty things you're subjected to. All in the name of being content and not having to seek anything new. You're an exceptional two-by-four mechanic, and that's a great plane. But I'm certain that when the idea to dumb it down was presented to you, you agreed eagerly, hoping to become popular from your ideas. Do you see yourself? Are you going to fight me the same way you handle everything else? If you do, you're going to lose."

Number Two sighted Number Fore-winds' plane, the Four Winds. It was circling the moonbase, same as him. Their ceasefire was long expired. He turned a knob to raise his forward guns to a higher power shot. It would have longer recharges between shots, but he speculated it would be a high speed fight by the look of his oversized engines. He needed to make the most of every glimpse of a clear shot he could get. He accelerated and moved in on his tail. If he could take him by surprise, all the better. He came in range, and his forward guns fired.

The Four Winds accelerated. Its four huge outputs produced flames wider than themselves. The pair of energy shots from the blacknose missed it. It shot ahead, swiftly vanishing from sight by fading into the horizon.

A shrinking dot.

Number Two scanned the horizon, veering left and right. He had to come back from one direction or another.

"Above you, Two," went the radio.

His ship rumbled, being pushed downward by impacts on the roof. Number Two accelerated his throttle to max. He then spun his ships facing upward, and accelerated that direction. With immense agility and expert control, he somersaulted his ship onto the Four Winds' six, all within a second.

Once again, the ship bolted ahead before he could get a shot. It moved at a speed he couldn't possibly keep up with. Even if he had all eight engines operational, the top speed of the Four Winds was in a whole different league. Number Two didn't know of any 2x4 technology that was even capable of it. But the battle took priority over his curiosity. He had to strategize, change the terms of the battle away from those of his adversary. He veered toward the moonbase and flew under it, circling the trunk. This would drastically reduce the amount of directions Fore-winds could engage him from. He circled the trunk, waiting for his opponent to make a move.

But he didn't show.

"Come on, attack me!" He shouted at the radio.

There was no answer.

He held the controls in a vicegrip. His teeth, clenched together. The object of his distraction had suddenly left him, and he now had to face the looming abyss sitting passively in his mind. This whole time, he had been holding himself on a static trial. Ever since what happened a week ago, when Number One left them forever, he'd spent every waking moment pursuing one distraction after another. It didn't matter what, entertainment, snacks, building the Blacknose. All he wanted was to never have to leave his comfort zone. No matter how constricted it became; How uncomfortable. Was that so bad? He asked himself.

Yes, it was. He answered to himself. If he had to requisition words of comfort from his own self, then he really was pitiful-

He slammed his fist on the dashboard, cutting off his own train of thought. "Crap!" What was he doing? Wallowing in his own emotions at a time like this. He considered Number Five's position. Fore-winds would have no reason to lie to him about her situation. She was doing ten times what he was. When Number One left them, she not only dove straight into her old trauma to never lead again, In order to fill the gap left my him, but did it without any complaint or sign of discomfort. And now they were up against the entire rest of the KND...

He spun his chair to a small panel, and pressed a few keys next to it. The gripper shoes he made for her had tracking devices in them. The screen brought up a heavily simplified 3D map of Moonbase Zero. The shoes, and by extension, she, was in the mainstream, right outside the corridor leading to the command bridge.

Then he saw the signal from the shoes being drowned out by a sudden energy surge. It started small, then inflated to massive proportions. His beacons were invisible compared to the titanic pulse. Then the energy surge died back down, and disappeared, revealing once again the shoe beacons. Something big was in there, he realized, something dangerous. And Number Five was heading straight for it.

He put his hands back on the flight controls, and flew out from the tree. He had to find some way to warn or help her. "It's time I start pulling my weight." No, he thought, he pulled his weight already. He was the team's 2x4 mechanic and pilot. A role he filled very well. He was fine. Without a doubt, he was adequate. But no again, that was not enough. It finally clicked in him. He wanted to be more than adequate. He had to be. He would have no satisfaction with himself until he was.

His lifelong inhibitions, Number Fore-winds' looming presence. These things stood to push him back into his comfort zone.

Back into a feeling of security, where he would feel content, and never feel challenged. He could just stay under the tree, and wait. Yeah, that would feel good...

"Screw them all! Screw my stupid feelings!"

He rode high, above the expanse of the moonbase. It was in lockdown, but The Blacknose had a nose worth naming it after. If he could find a spot where it was thin enough, he might be able to penetrate it. The plan sounded crazy in his head. A KND tree house doing lockdown was serious business. And Moonbase Zero was new, made with state of the art 2x4 engineering.

He grinned to himself. "It's time... time I finally rolled the dice." He started giggling. He was scared, but he felt alive.

He spun his facing to look down on the moonbase. Then he saw the Four Winds coming up at him to attack.

Fore-winds' monologue, followed by his silence was what finally made him snap out of his state of mind. And now, face to face with him again, there was only one thing, one thing he had to say to him in reply. The Blacknose was damaged, and the gauges read that it was low on fuel.

He accelerated at full throttle and headed straight at Number Fore-winds in a head to head collision course. "You're in my way!"

* * *

Moving along the mainstream, Number Five unslung the Afoofa off her shoulder and readied it. Further along the road, two more operatives were oncoming. They wore face-concealing helmets. As soon as she saw them, she aimed her gun at them.

As soon as they saw her, they took their helmets off. It was Numbers Three and four. Number Five lowered her weapon. They walked up to her. Once they got close to each other, they formed a circle of three. Number Five felt her face ache with stiffness as she smiled. "You guys are a sight for sore eyes."

Number Three came right up and hugged her, squeezing her like a big fat teddy bear.

"We hear you've been busy," said Number Four.

She looked over from behind Number Three's hug. "How have you guys been holding up?"

"We've had it pretty easy," he answered. "They've been focusing all their attention on you. You're raising all the chaos then they can handle."

"Whered' you get the uniforms?"

"We raided an armory."

"Smart move. Nab anything good?"

"We actually decided to only take the armor." He walked up closer with his hands in an explanatory position. His face was beaming. "See, if we just looted and ransacked the place, then they would know we were there. And then they would be looking for anybody wearing," he pointed to his armor, "this, then our disguises wouldn't work as well."

"If at all," reinforced Number Three.

"You guys... OK, Numbuh Three, that's enough." She took Number Three's shoulders and moved her away. She stepped back and put her hands behind her back, still smiling. Number Five continued. "That was an even smarter move. I'm proud of you guys." She wasn't any taller than them, but nonetheless, she came close and pat them both on the head. "You ready to end this?"

They both looked at her, and nodded, smiling hopefully.

She walked past them, and they followed. A door further down on the right had a sign above it. It read: C&C.

"It's time to end this. Rachel, you started this with a lie, and I'm gonna end it with answers." She walked faster, "and I'll have answers, even if I have to..." She looked back at the site of the battle. "Fight a hundred misguided people, a thousand. Even if I have to burn the KND to the ground, knock down the gates of every last sector and every last home. Nothing will keep the truth hidden from me." She came up to the door. Her gun was ready in her hands. The doors' light flashed red. "Nothing will keep it from the world!" She leveled her gun at the door, and pulled the trigger.

* * *

"Abigail, I know it's sooner than you wanted, but now, it's time." The feeling had returned, and this time, there would be no rescue. She was just outside of secret hangout 11. She and Number Five had just split up. She looked up, through the ceiling, at the sky. "I leave everything to you." She smiled, "you'd better be able to handle it." She let go, surrendering control of herself.

And her struggle, a struggle she faced alone, kept hidden from everyone up 'till that point, came to an end.

* * *

"Rachel!" Shouted Number Five in open rage as she came into the command bridge. She was alone, and didn't have her cannon, the All for One, One for All, with her.

The bridge was an expanse of platforms with additional stories above and below. All of them were attached to the back wall, and generally shaped like U's. The entire chamber was shaped as a tall half-sphere. There were huge viewing windows on the half-sphere side of the wall, which were covered by slide-out metal doors, due to the lockdown.

"And you must be the one. That one. That one I'm tied to by everything which is abstract." Came a voice from a source she couldn't see as it echoed through the spacious room. The voice was Number Three Sixty Two's.

Number Five walked slowly along the platform. Ahead, it curved right, toward the center of the chamber.

"As you... probably know, that one. The one you call Rachel, was captured by the enemy you call Father."

"Yeah," Number Five played along. If she felt like talking, that made it all the easier to learn the truth. "It was a false lead, and you were taken by surprise."

"That is... correct."

The above platforms and their supports slid past her view as she walked and searched the room. For her, and for an ambush.

"He asked her, interrogated her. He demanded to know the location of the one you call Number One. And in reply, she Told the truth: That she didn't know. He wasn't convinced, though. He was arrogant, and high on his power. He declared that there would be no way she could lie to him once he was... finished. A period of darkness. She woke up, and was free to go. She returned to the KND, and told everybody that she evaded capture, but delayed returning because she needed to lead him off her trail."

"Very much believable, given your background in ghost ops."

"My background? I thought it was already implied. I'm not that one." "And I thought it was already implied that you're her, turned into a new delightful child." She came to the middle of the U shaped platform. Facing in the direction of the flat wall the doors were on, she stared up a flight of stairs suspended in the air, leading up to a small platform. A single chair was on the small platform, and she was sitting in it. It bothered Number Five the way she sat in the chair. Her subconscious expected that she didn't belong on it, as it was the command chair. Therefore Number Five expected that she would sit on it informally, by leaning forward or resting her cheek on her fist. But she didn't. She looked the exact same as Number Three Six Two, but everything else was different. She held herself different, breathed in a different pattern. The way she sat in the command chair was upright, with both arms rested naturally on the armrests. Her weight was distributed evenly, symmetrically. As if she wasn't at all an intruder on it. She managed to embody a sense of the time when the centerpiece chair that implied authority carried with it an additional sense of sanctity.

Her eyes were not those of a delightful child. They were blue, like one, but they displayed emotion. Calm, insight, boredom. These things could be easily seen. Boredom implied a desire to find something to enjoy. There was no way she was a delightful. "Who... are you?" She asked as she looked up at the enigma before her.

"Me first. Why are you here? Why have you come straight to me?"

"I've come here to learn the truth. To confront you, my malefactor, the one who deludes my comrades with lies."

"The truth?" She closed her eyes, and began a quiet laugh, that rose up to make her open them again. She tilted her head up as her laugh got louder. The laugh stopped abruptly, and she eyed straight down at Number Five with a serious look. "I'll tell you. Who I am is something I plan to illustrate with my actions, with the marks I leave on this earth." She lifted her hands and held them in front of her own face. The fingers meticulously curled and uncurled. "And I've landed in such a... convenient place to get started."

"Get started on what?" "I call it special practicable intolerance."

"And what is it?"

She stood up with no apparent haste. "I'm aware, you see, that what you call adult tyranny is not a tyranny by the true definition of the word, but merely a broad array of differences and biases. Slight, but still unfair infringements on kids of the world. And I know that the Kids Next Door was founded on intolerance toward these slight infringements, whether or not it's members are aware that this intolerance, this rebellion, is what's keeping the adults, who rule you, from cracking down on you harder."

Number Five had to smile. Whoever this one was, she was intelligent. She enjoyed discovering intelligent people. "I'll hand it to you. You've got both the common and advanced mind of this figured out. Now, the question. What are you going to do?"

"Deal with you, Number Five. I have to, before I do anything else. That was the condition set by the one you call Three Sixty Two, before she would give herself to me, rather than become what you call a delightful. She told me she promised you a chess game, and that I had to be her stand-in.

"Misusing my credibility as her physical self to lie about you to everyone, organizing the hunt for you, I decided that was the best way to emulate such a chess game."

"I think... I think I have an idea of what's going on, now. What do you plan to do, after I've been dealt with?"

Her arms spread out, indicating her surroundings in general. "This organization is the centerpiece of the child's rebellion against the adult. It's a freak of nature by any standard that could exist in the world, if the world didn't already have it exist in it." She rolled her left arm forward, downward at Number Five, as if offering something. "With or without my hand on its reigns. I will direct or push this amazing organization, along with all the youth of this world to the next logical step: The evolution of rebellion; revolution! Kids everywhere on the globe will bring their intolerance to bear on every last one of the wrongfully held powers adults hold over them. They believe they're above us. They believe they don't need to give us reasons. I will ensure it is known we needn't give them any in return. We will no longer be reliant on hit and runs; guerrilla tactics. It will be an open war, and I will crush every last gate, every last stronghold of their empire of ignorance. No fear of power will be held over the head of even a single child. It is the old who will be subjected to the laws set forth by the young. We will rule them! Just as it was in a past era."

Number Five remained silent. She had her eyes shut in contemplation. "Now I see why you haven't been found out. Convenient position? With an orator's mouth like that, you could have ended up in the body of Numbuh Thirteen and still been able to rally everyone against whatever target you wanted."

"Taking the body of anyone but this one would have been infeasible. 'Tis only so because our souls are identical."

"But I see what you really are inside." She said, ignoring that comment.

"Are you calling me a liar?"

"No. You meant every word, and those words give you away, even if they don't make you realize it." She began pacing in a short line. "You talk about order. You talk about a safe society, one with security as its foremost virtue. And you talk about restoring the world to the way it was a long time ago." She pointed up the stairs at her, a gesture that implied accusation. "I don't know who you are, but I am certain of something now. You're an adult!"

In reply, she shook her head, slowly, solemnly. "I suppose winning you over was too much to hope for." She looked her in the eye. "Let us resume our game."

"How about we raise the stakes."

"Hm? What do you propose?"

"If I win..." She inhaled. "If I win you have to let Rachel go. Let her return to her original self."

Slowly, she smiled with one side of her mouth. "And if I win?"

"If you win, I'll tow in line. I'll help you with your designs, and like a good follower, I'll try to convince my team to do the same."

"And... why do you think these are even stakes?"

"Because you're looking to play on the big field. You know what I'm capable of, and you know you'll need capable people behind you to accomplish your goal."

"Ha! That's absolutely right. But I'm afraid the stakes are against you, not me. No offense, but you don't stand a chance against me." She took a long rod, nearly the length of a staff, that was leaning against the railing of her tiny platform. The rod had a head with four prongs. She held it by the bottom to attain maximum reach, and swung it to point down the steps. "Are you aware of what it is that you're challenging? The capacity to punch, to throw, to swing. Your ability to judge, and pull a trigger in correspondence. Things you are capable of as an isolated individual, these things are all but a mouse, snipping at the feet of a giant!" She swung the rod, unleashing a soft buzz noise.

Her voice rang through the sideways dome. It was clearly the voice of a girl, but it reached a hard resonance Number Five didn't know was possible to one. She could hear her own heartbeat. It was rapid and hard. "Do you accept my terms?"

She slammed the head of the rod into the floor, producing a metallic ring. "I do."

Number Five smiled to herself, that was all she needed to hear. It was time. "Rook, to king five!" She looked straight up, at the edge of the platform far above. It was higher than the command chair as well, and therefore concealed. The Afoofa, her rook, fell from it. She caught it in the posture she normally held it in. Without delay, she fired it.

The shot sped straight up the stairs, cleared of any obstacles, at she, the black king.

"Check!"

A clink, as high pitched as it was brief, rang through the room. Slightly before the clink, a flash, instantaneous in both its appearance and departure, erupted from the site of the gun's impact. Number Five had so very little time. To notice the threat. To see it, and in an entirely other phase, react to it. Hovering just above her, on the left, was her adversary. The rod came down upon her.

It met with the Afoofa, held sideways in a guard.

"King takes rook."

Number Five let go of the gun, knowing full well its reebars were conductible. She dove away as the gun exploded from the electrical surge. The blast pushed her away, along the platform. When she landed, she looked at the site of the explosion, and saw her adversary, her feet now on the ground, walking calmly out of the smoke. She approached casually, her prod held slack at her side. It was as though this was just a game to her. Number Five had to make a move, "bishop to..." She couldn't remember the signal. "Oh, screw it, guys, help me out, now!"

Numbers Three and Four came out of cover on an overhead platform further out in the dome. They immediately set their guns and fired.

Another flash, and another clink sound. The adversary vanished from the fired upon spot. A bolt of electricity shot out from the flash. It was followed by a smaller bolt tagging just behind. She saw them for only an instant. They went over her. She rolled over to follow where they went. She saw again her adversary, now appeared on the other side of her. Her adversary was looking at her, and she was smiling. She brought up her rod, and pointed it upward to her left. A bolt of lightning shot out of it, hitting Number Three and Four's platform. Number Five saw it section off from the rest of the platform, and then it fell, taking with it Numbers Three and Four. She looked back at her adversary, who was still looking straight at her.

Number Five was on her feet again. She whipped out her pistol and fired repeatedly. The adversary moved her rod with inhuman speed, deflecting every shot. She pointed her free hand at Number Five, and a bolt of electricity shot out of her index and middle fingers. It hit the pistol and knocked it out of her hand. She twirled her rod and ended it by striking its head onto the floor. Her face became solemn. She advanced on Number Five, slowly, calmly. Number Five didn't make a move, couldn't make a move. The adversary brought her rod to a thrusting position. The rod was readied, electricity still arcing between the prongs. "Checkmate, Abigail Lincoln."

"I do not concede." Replied Abigail Lincoln.

"Unorthodox. If that's the case, I'll take you like any other piece." She stabbed her with her electric rod.

And it met with thin air.

The rod was pushed up by a shoe that adhered to it. Number Five flipped her leg down in full circle and ripped it from the adversary's grip. This motion brought them close together. Number Five grabbed up her collar, and pulled her face up to hers. "Do you seriously think I would surrender to you? An adult?"

The adversary formed a grin, born of genuine excitement. "Do you realize what you just did?"

"What are you talking about?" Said Number Five. The adversary tipped her head back in sync with a rising laugh. Number Five normally ascribed this kind of expression to someone putting up an act, but this one really seemed genuine. The adversary was emoting, honestly, in a way she'd never seen. Then it dawned on her. Whoever it was in Number Three Sixty Two's body, was truly a giant. She pushed her away, still looking her in the eye. Then she bent down, not taking her eyes off, to pick up the discarded rod.

"That's not going to help you." Said the adversary.

Number Five looked at the head, and noticed there was no charge. It was dead.

The adversary stood idle. She held herself in an easygoing, yet deliberate posture, looking at Number Five. A smile had found its way to her conspicuous blue eyes. "I apologize. I know we're supposed to be having a fight. It's just that I've been impressed, for the first time in a long time. Allow me to savor it."

If not for her blue eyes and the context surrounding that moment, Number Five would swear that the person she was facing was Number Three Six Two, the real thing. "You're no slouch yourself. But all I did was nab your staff."

The adversary shook her head. "Don't you see..? Actually, on second thought, perhaps being aware of it would push you away. I don't want to do that."

Number Five wanted to say 'what are you talking about?' But she was used to this one speaking In riddles. "We've wasted enough time, let's continue."

The adversary lifted her hand toward her, and pointed her index and middle fingers forward together. "Yes." A single bolt of lightning shot out of her fingers. The sound was like that of an electric arc snapping through thin air, magnified to the point of sounding more like a gunshot. The bolt met with the head of the rod.

Number Five had the rod grounded into the metal floor of the platform. She lifted the rod, now slightly charged, and made a downward swipe on the adversary. The rod passed by her. She had sidestepped the swing. Number Five withdrew the rod, holding it in two hands again. She paused a second, then charged the adversary. She swung and stabbed the rod at her, unleashing a flurry of blows. Not one of them connected. The adversary evaded them all with ease, moving precisely as much as necessary while gradually backstepping. She didn't take her eyes off Number Five. She left no openings. "What is this, Abigail?" She spoke with no weight in her breath even as she evaded every attack. "What happened to a minute ago? I don't even have to warp! You can't touch me!"

Number Five felt an inner smile. This one had dangerous powers, but no eyes on the back of her head. The adversary backed a little more as she dodged each blow thrown at her. Toward the railing as it turned with the platform to curve toward the door. She bumped her left side into the railing. Number Five timed her next swing to coincide. She swung it upward diagonally from her left, forcing the adversary into the railing.

The swing connected.

The head of the staff struck her in the cheek. The blow threw her head over like a suckerpunch. Number Five let her smile show on her face. She actually landed a hit! she thought excitedly. But then, her skepticism kicked in. Why didn't she warp? Could she have? Perhaps it had limits.

She did warp, a second or two after the blow landed. The flash and clink sound heralding the big and small bolts of energy. Number Five tried to follow them. They went by her head. She turned around, and saw the adversary materialize high above the cluster of platforms. She hovered near the ceiling. Thin streams of energy formed from thin air and wove beneath her feet, keeping her airborne. "No more games, Abigail. I give you this chance to concede. This has been as good as checkmate since the second you stepped into this chamber."

This rang true to Number Five. Throughout their fight, all she had accomplished was having gotten lucky several times, and taken advantage of the adversary's sportsmanship. She had now certainly exhausted both those things. The lack of progress manifested in her mind. The adversary was beyond her league. She had to face it.

What can I do? She thought to herself. She went through her options. She didn't have a gun, and apparently the adversary could levitate, so attacking wasn't an option. She had to assume Numbers Three and Four were completely out of action, so no support. Her bag had managed to stay with her, but all it had inside was a last backup cartridge for the Afoofa, useless without the Afoofa. She could run away, but more troops were undoubtedly closing in, and once again, she didn't have a gun. "Crap!" She breathed through her teeth. "Dag freakin' putsy bloated bass barrels of binge!"

The adversary laughed. "I assume that means you surrender?"

"I'm not enjoying myself!"

"What? Have you snapped?"

"Look, whenever I'm on a mission, I always find a way to enjoy it." She began pacing, ignoring the looming threat above to stare introvertedly into her own mind. "The KND has a lot of enemies, and going toe to toe with them is always fun in it's own way. They're so lame or irrational, and that makes it fun to defy them. They're all typical grown-up tyrants. But you... you're not fun. You're like Father, only worse yet you talk sense. You're ruthless and smart and fighting you isn't fun in the slightest."

"Thanks for the compliment, But what's with this 'fun' crap? There's a lot riding on this fight, for you and me both."

"Yes! That's right! Including whether or not I have fun with it!"

"I... I can't believe we're having this conversation."

"Look, it's not like I don't understand your situation, I do, really. You've finally got a vessel in this world. You have things you need to do. You want to make the most of it. I respect that. If anybody but someone like you had taken Rachel's body, I'd be a lot angrier. But!" She raised her finger and pointed it at the adversary. "A jerk with valid motives is still a jerk!"

"I think you're in denial about having been beaten. You're on your honor regarding our terms. Listen to me, there are things in life you really can't avoid taking seriously, times when you just have to bite the bullet."

"Who gets to decide what those times are, you? That's speaking like a true adult."

"Because it's true. You can't deny the truth."

"No, but I can deny you."

"That's the same as denying the truth. I'm voicing it!"

"No, you're trying to own it."

The adversary said nothing.

"I'm going to be as clear as I can possibly be." Number Five continued. "You hold no ownership over the truth, and you certainly don't decide how I choose to handle it in my life. If I choose to judge this high stakes fight based on how much fun I'm having, that's my right. It's your right to make of it what you wish, but I'll be reasonably offended if you assert that I'm violating some kind of standard set by you, and I should stop."

The adversary paused for a long moment, still levitating on spastic strings of energy. She began laughing, sincerely. She then snapped her head back down to look down at Number Five. "You've made me laugh yet again. That's unprecedented."

"Well, I'm glad you're amused."

"Not amused, impressed." Her smile widened. It was a smile that showed no teeth. "The one called Rachel, she sure knows how to pick them. When this is finished, you and me, we're going to play a round of chess, alright?"

"Yeah... okay, it's a date, but in the meantime..."

"Of course."

Their talk was over. The battle had resumed. The adversary's foreboding presence was felt once again in full.

"your concession, I will still allow it, but it must be spoken by you."

"Look, I can't concede to you."

"You don't really have a choice, my friend."

"My winning this is the only way Rachel is coming back. You're gonna have to suppress me every step of the way."

The adversary lowered her head, closing her eyes. Deep in thought, she slowly lifted her right arm. Her head lifted a bit, and she looked once again at Number Five. "You are a truly loyal friend. Have it your way."

The lights in the room shorted, and a rumble, titanic in scale yet far away, like thunder, could be heard, and felt. Bolts of electricity struck out of the walls. They emerged from the powered consoles all about the command bridge. The lights were still active, yet the room darkened as the energy flowed through the air, outshining all other lights like a blinding flash that chose to remain and not vanish. Number Five's mental image of electricity had always been yellow, but this energy was not yellow in the slightest, rather, it was white, and cast a subtle blue glow that dimly illuminated the entire chamber. She watched as the streams shot through the air long enough for her mind to truly process the aesthetic of what lightning looked like. Uncharacteristically for bolts of electricity, they flowed, and their motion was fully visible with no instant changes. As though they were being controlled. She looked up at the adversary. They were being controlled. The streams of energy converged to one point. That point was right above the hand of the adversary. Number Five Lifted the rod, and threw it as though a javelin. It flew up, at a perfect trajectory to strike the adversary.

She caught it in her hand, and discarded it just as easily. It fell into the area below the platforms. "Do you not see? What you have only effects you. Projectiles mean nothing once they leave your control. This energy, of mine..." The energy converging on her hand took solid form, into a circular, vertically positioned wheel that spun in place with its evenly divided segments bending as if from slight air resistance. If the origin of the wheel was not clearly evident, it could be mistook for an exquisite flower. "I can only control it once it's mine." The energy wheel grew to massive proportions, fueled by the influx of energy being absorbed from the moonbase. Eventually, the energy stopped coming, and the wheel stopped growing. The adversary looked down upon her, and readied to unleash the massive influx of energy upon her.

The rebel was bereft of options, incapable of acting. She remained in place as the law of that moment, the wheel, came down upon her.

_Rebels and contrarians who don't want peace and don't stand for anything._

* * *

He laughed like a madman, loud, and caring not for appearance. His ship was point blank to the moonbase. His throttle was at full. The nose hit the locked down outer shell, making a thundering crash he cared not for. Rumbling and flailing in his ship he held no worries over. The wall gave, and he advanced through a chaotic cloud of shattered metal and glass, giving way to a blinding light. He saw a shining wheel of white energy, and he saw Number Five, whom it was vectored toward. His ship was to be hit by the wheel at it's course, and in his intent, he had no reason to change it. The energy wheel left his field of view, the next instant, his diagnostic panel flared red, and more rumbling and shaking ensued in his ship. He opened a transparent lid on the control deck, and then pressed a button underneath. Every part of the ship vanished from the diagnostic panel, save the far front; the cockpit section, its black nose.

He flew freely within the sizable chamber, veering right in a tight U-turn. To his left was Number Five on the walkway. To his right on the same field of view was the energy wheel, buried into the discarded hull of his ship. He flew at Number Five at high speed as he moved his facing one hundred and eighty degrees away from directly pointing at her. The flipping of a small but rigid switch opened the door that remained with the cockpit. He heard screeching and howling enter his cockpit along with a strong breeze. The open door was headed straight for Number Five. He hoped she had the sense to jump in. No, he knew she did. He listened closely through the ear-shattering noise. He couldn't look, because he had to control the plane. The sound came that he was listening for; a single, or rapid pair of thumps coming from directly behind him. It was then he knew he could shut the door.

He spun the nose around again, and saw the hole he made in the chamber. Air was releasing into space with alarming force, taking with it debris consisting of the blown apart pieces of his ship, the computer consoles of the control room, and most of the platforms along with them. He maneuvered the black nose toward the hole. The outflux of pressure would take him out there well enough. He felt his chair want to lean back more from the weight of someone setting their hand on it. He knew it was Number Five, there was no need to look. He passed through the hole, back into space. A distinct figure became visible among the debris. It was a person. With a closer look, he recognized her as Number Three Sixty Two. Crap! He thought, she would suffocate out here! He flew toward her. She was his enemy, but letting her die would be over the limit.

A hand came on his shoulder. "Don't go anywhere near her." Said Number Five.

He looked up at her face, it had the most serious look he had ever seen her wear, and he knew her to seldom act serious. "Numbuh Five, I know we're desperate and everything, but... what the crap? Is that kind of nasty business really called for here?"

She shook her head. "You don't understand, she'll be just fine." She looked back at the windshield, then pointed at it.

He looked in turn, and saw Number Three Six Two. She oustretched her limbs, and a ring of wire-like energy formed around her shape, evenly proportioning to the X shape made by her arms and legs. The formation of the ring of energy was followed by a cessation of movement by her. She was immediately stopped still in space. The moon's gravity had no effect on her. To the right, a ship approached her. The ship was the Four Winds. It got close to her, and like a magnet suddenly getting close enough to another magnet, she snapped onto it.

"Crap, Numbuh Two, do you have anything to-"

"You can relax, he's out of ammo." He made a distant pass on the Four Winds, eying the cockpit window intently. He saw Number Fore-winds' face, staring him down in turn. Number Three Six Two was also in the ship. She stared the direction of his ship with similar meaning. He looked up at Number Five, who was doing the same as well. She stared ahead, and he could tell whom her gaze was directed at.

They completed their pass, disappearing from one another. Number Two Veered right and headed toward the space above the moonbase.

"Where are you taking us?"

"The commercial district hangar. It's the only place we can land that isn't locked down."

"That's no good, they'll be expecting that."

"We don't have a choice, without it's main power source, the black nose can only run for a few minutes."

She said nothing.

He set on his course. The commercial district hangar was segregated as the highest section of the massive structure. He approached it quickly, and flew it toward the atmospheric shield. The approach and the landing comprised a moment when he had to do something, and it was so simple, so easy. Compared to what he had just been doing, in made him uneasy. He felt like he had to do more that moment else he might fall behind. The details of this feeling remained in fog. He recognized this feeling as anxiety.

The black nose phased through the atmospheric barrier. He saw at least several dozen armed and armored operatives on the hangar floor who were looking up at him. Several of them waved at his approach, casually waggling their up-pointed arms. He raised his eyebrows. "What the..."

"Numbuh Two, they got a truce flag."

He looked around, and sure enough, one of them was waving a bed sheet on the end of a long stick. Nobody stopped him doing this. He landed the nose on the floor as he spun it around so the door would face them. The craft touched down, and he spun the seat around then stood up. He looked at Number Five. "What do we do?"

"Are you packing?"

"I have a pistol and a few impact grenades. You?"

She shrugged and shook her head, "I got nothin'. Let's hear what they have to say. Maybe we can lawyer up."

Number Two flipped the door switch, and it slid open. Together, they walked out of the door single file, with their hands clearly visible. They formed side by side in front of the crowd of operatives.

One of them stepped forward to speak for the rest, "You can relax, you two. We know the truth." Number Five spoke: "What are you talking about?" There was no way he could mean what she thought what he said meant. It was not possible.

"I mean you guys' names have been cleared."

She looked at the mob before her, they were smiling, they seemed to mean it. She felt like pinching herself. "How is this possible..?"

"Such is the power of media, Numbuh Five." Interjected a familiar voice. Several operatives made way for him as he approached the scene of the landed black nose. It was Number Second-Born. He spread his arms, letting his elbows bend. He smiled with his head deliberately slack. "Media is a wondrous tool that makes the impossible possible. With it, you can say anything to anybody, even feed the truth to a mob."

Number Five began feeling the tension built up by hours of nonstop fighting melt away. She couldn't help smiling. "How? How did you do it?"

"Remember the bug I gave you? I had people in place at every intercom room. Everything that was said in the Command bridge was broadcast to the entire moonbase. You dug out the truth, confronted your malefactor, and called her out. Then she confessed, and your innocence affirmed. A meager violation of privacy was all it took for everyone else to be affirmed by the same evidence."

She felt like laughing with pure joy. She looked over at Number Two. She couldn't see his eyes under his goggles, so they couldn't exchange glances. She looked back at Number Second-Born. "Oh, man, I could just hug you!" She walked up to him.

He put up a hand with alarming agility as if to say 'stop'. "Please, I must ask that you not touch me."

"Whatever you want, buddy!" She passed him, and made her way through the groups of operatives. She looked left and right, surveying them. "I've decided to forgive all of you. You all better appreciate it, I'm still ticked."

They didn't seem to have a response to that.

She turned around. Numbers Two and Second-Born were following just behind. "Second-Born, you wouldn't happen to know the whereabouts and or status of Numbuhs Three and Four, would you?"

"I do, they were caught in the ventilation ducts, and as of the broadcast are about the moonbase as free kids. Can't tell you where to find them presently, though."

"That's fine, I'm just glad to know they're safe. What about the ship, Four Winds? Do you know where that is?"

"Maybe we should walk and talk. There's some people who want to talk to you."

"You're right." She walked, and Numbers Two and Second-Born followed. Then she turned to look at the crowd of operatives, they were still standing there, looking in her direction. She sighed, "do you guys enjoy just standing there? Go do something, I don't care what."

They complied, breaking their orderly formation with each one going their own way. Conversation broke out among them, adding a slight din to the otherwise quiet, inactive hangar.

She turned back and continued her walk.

Number Second-Born spoke: "You realize you just told them to take the day off, right?"

She shook her head. "What's it matter? I'm not their commander."

"And yet you just told them what to do."

"I only meant it as a suggestion."

"Don't tell them that, they won't like you changing your mind."

"Numbuh Second-Born, I don't appreciate willful ignorance. Don't be like that, you're better than that."

"You got it, whatever you say."

She stopped again and looked at him. "What's gotten into you?"

"Look, there's a reason I came here personally to fetch you. We need to get to the ops center."

She continued walking again. They passed through the open floor. The hangar had a slightly rounded ceiling, with walls that traveled in a curve, veering away after the ship entrance, then bowing in an even trajectory to the center as it got narrower. She guessed there were rooms shaped like this fit flush over the hangar's entire round shape, forming a spiral. Every section was a one way, whether in or out, designed to streamline traffic. She liked the thinking that went into it. Streamlining traffic meant you didn't have to slow down when entering, and made it safer altogether. Any ship taking off easily telegraphed this fact to every other ship, gaining speed before it reached traffic height.

They reached an elevator near the wall. "So where'd the Four Winds go?" Said Number Five.

"It headed for Earth." Answered Number Second-Born.

"And you guys know who was aboard it?"

"Yeah, we do."

They came into the elevator. Number Second-Born pressed the lowest button on the panel. The door slid shut, and they began their descent. "Another thing, Numbuh Two." Crises mode was still leaving her mind, and she just remembered to address it.

"What is it?" He replied.

She looked over at him, and put her hand on his shoulder. "That was the most daring, Deus Ex Machina rescue I'd ever seen. Well done, and thank you."

"Ah, you don't need to thank me. It was fun."

"Look, I'm grateful and all, but don't tell me what I should and shouldn't thank. It's my decision."

"... yeah, alright." He was smiling.

Number Five turned to Second-Born. "So what needs my attention so bad you came all the way up to the commercial district hangar to get me?"

"A crapping mess of indecision and yelling. You need to show up there."

"What for?"

"To debrief on what we're up against." The elevator stopped, and opened. "Yeah, okay, look, I'm not sure this is something we can beat."

"Don't even think of saying that to brass. You'll send them into panic, and without morale, a one percent chance of victory becomes zero. We know Numbuh Three Six Two has become something like a delightful yet not a delightful, but what we're not unified on is how to solve it, you follow?"

Great, she thought as she sighed. They walked together out of the elevator, and along a walkway that looked like a veritable Frankenstein of dozens of contributions of different materials and architecture. It spiraled vertically, with an uncountable amount of doors and open passages connected to it. To add to its sense of instability, a large rail ran along its middle, with heavy freight and passengers riding a fat tram that went continually up the spiral.

"Yeah, I follow."

"Good, this is a situation we didn't plan on or prepare for, and the supreme leader isn't available."

"So you need me to take charge?"

"If you can manage that on your new celebrity status, then yes. If you can't, then at least get them to shut up and stay out of the way."

"We can't become divided again, not in light of what we're up against."

"Don't worry about that, we're rebels with a cause. They're all just scared."

She took out the perforated battery. "Can you send another broadcast through this?"

"Sure, what for?"

"I don't have time to get everyone behind this. Every second our enemy is free to operate on earth is a second I wish I could have taken from her. If I leave her free to roam, she'll win without a doubt."

"What are you talking about?" Said Number Two.

"Our chess game, it's still on."

* * *

Number Eighty Six watched the din of constant talking with detached resignation. High command had convened to discuss what to do about the recent turn of events, but Their talks had been going in circles. She had a lot of pull, but any attempt she made to get everyone along to one course of action was stopped dead by a kid or the next kid offering their own two bits on the matter, attacking with valid skepticism and claiming there had to be a better way of handling it. There probably was, but...

She cursed, any action at all would be better than wasting all this time talking it over. She herself wasn't the brightest bulb in the shed, but she knew how to operate as part of a well-oiled machine.

This wasn't a well-oiled machine.

The speakers on the ceiling corners spoke out abruptly, cutting off their conversation. "Attention everyone, this is Numbuh Five, addressing all KND operatives. I'll be brief."

Number Eighty Six listened in. She didn't care if the others did.

"Our adversary has escaped to Earth, and I'm going after her. Anybody who wishes to follow is to meet me at the main hangar. That's all I have to say on this broadcast. Come to the main hangar if you want details. Only those with the courage to fight, join me."

She looked at the others. It was only a passing glance, that came and went without consequence. She headed for the door. She would go to the main hangar, no doubt on her mind, to be with those who've had the guts to decide.

* * *

It was a warm night, lit brightly by a moon unobscured by any clouds. She stood at the top of a heightened platform carved out of limestone. A wide case of stairs led to the top of the platform whence she stood. Tropical trees and bushes filled the area around the ancient structure, and beside the entire length of stairs. She felt a warm, yet strong wind, heard waves crash against the cliffs, though they were not visible from where she was. She looked out into the ocean, taking long, energetic whiffs of fresh air, as if greedy for personal health. Silence, she thought, was the denouncement of noise. She felt, at that moment, silence at its most peaceful. The wind, the waves, the moon. Sounds that brought silence to the next level by offering replacements for all noise, without disturbing the sense of silence.

She observed all of her surroundings, everything her senses could take in. It had been so long since she had last set foot on Earth. The ensuing rush of emotion was almost too much. The feeling that rose higher than all the rest, was nostalgia. Nostalgia embodied by words she had heard long ago, and taken to heart. "When the giant lumbered and thundered, and the ants crawled underneath. Where the fish swim through a realm, vast and enigmatic, and birds fly overhead, safe from all but others of their kind." Her nostalgia became vivid. Her surroundings made her comfortable beyond the ability of any bed or cushion. She laughed, out loud and freely. The laugh was beset with deliberation, yet seldom did her mind run so wild.

A thunderbolt struck from the sky, and went into the ocean. There followed no sound to break the silence. She leveled her head again. "Welcome to the world. Where all actions take effect, all thoughts carry potential, and there is an end to every beginning."


	5. Endgame

E.N.D.G.A.M.E.

Elicitive

New

Disposition

Grants

Amendment

Made

Eternal

* * *

Her hands were rested on a table. The table served as a quarter of a larger span consisting of four identical tables cumulated to make a single, large one. It's space was taken up by a disorganized assortment of papers, open laptops, sidearms, and the odd bag of Cheetos. Other kids were standing at the table as well; a row to her right, and a row to her left. They were in meeting, and their social gathering rang with purpose. It was not the weather they were talking about. They did not speak of current events, nor secondhand news of current events. They were not talking about people and their opinions thereof. Their discussion was not intellectual. They did not focus on ideas or the pursuit of knowledge, they did not contest one another in debate.

What they spoke of, to one another, could not be described as anything but action. They were, soon, to take real action. They planned, and discussed the course of action they were to take, discussion made real by the guarantee that everything decided upon was to be done, by one, or several of them if needed. What they were doing was not conspiracy by candlelight, but the opposite; it was an open forum, with their eyes set on the future. It was a time and place where everything they did, everything they decided, would have significant effect in the immediate future.

* * *

She lay casually on the flat limestone. The sun was well up in the sky, and it was beginning to get hot. The chirping of wild birds could be heard all around, attempting to create music, and failing, yet still producing a relaxing overtone. She lifted a hand, and a stream of energy flowed out of it. The stream flew up into the sky, making a wide loop before being sucked quickly back into her hand, slightly weaker than it was when it left. She smiled, and looked at the moon, visible in the day sky. "These kids, they rely on technology. And everything about this technology can be summed up with a few words, all in the same category: Salvage, improvision, rigging."

"We call it two-by-four technology." Commented the guy behind her.

She rolled her head back and lifted her eyes to look his way. "Are you still here? You should go back to them, while turning against me is still the risky option."

He walked past her, looking over the long staircase down, at the horizon. "You have my loyalty in this. Don't tell me what to do, alright?"

She relaxed her head again, closing her eyes and letting herself relax in body and mind. She was in no mood to argue.

"Hey, Z."

"What?"

"Will you tell me your full name?"

"No." She said flatly.

"Why not?"

She exhaled in a slight hint at laughter. "Good question."

"So..?"

"It's Zera."

"Zera? King of the gods, who wields a mighty thunderbolt?"

"That's Zeus."

"Eh, give or take a couple of letters."

She laughed out loud. "You're on to more than you think."

"Is that so?"

She understood the nature of that question. He meant to have her either explain what she meant, or drop the issue entirely. It was a fair position, considering she was dancing around things he had no way of knowing from intuition. She decided to tell him. "You know who the Greek gods are?"

"Yeah, I read about them in school."

"Do you know how they came to power? Why they're the ones who ruled the world?"

"Sure, they rebelled against the previous rulers; the titans, and beat them."

"The titans were their parents; their elders."

"I see, I find that easy to ascribe that to the KND in that they both rebel against adults."

"The Greeks were always on to something bigger than was immediately apparent when they wrote their lore. I think that the gods' rebellion against the titans was meant to symbolize the new overthrowing the old, and the world moving forward as a result."

"Are you like Zeus? Here to overthrow the titans again?"

"What do you think?"

He paused. "No. You're nothing like him. You're calculating and charismatic. He was tough and had a short fuse. He made it storm when he was angry. You would make it storm if you felt good about life."

"Is that why you've sided with me? Because you think I'm some kind of genius?"

"My turn to open up is it? Fine." He cleared his throat, and began to pace.

"No pressure, here."

"No, no, I want to say it."

"Is it something boring, or mushy, perhaps?"

"Shut up and let me talk." He snapped.

His disrespect didn't bother her. She was better than that.

"I could have left you to fall onto the moon, or float in deep space. What do you think would have happened if I did?"

"Obviously, I would have been picked up and captured by the KND. Game over. What's your point?"

He stopped pacing, then extended an arm, slowly forming a fist with an outstretched hand. "But I didn't. And now you're on Earth, safe from your enemies, at least for the moment. You, in all the things you are, are free to operate as you see fit in the world. I'm happy about that. I don't expect you, or anyone to understand why."

"A white knight type, eh?"

"No, a white knight protects the weak; ladies, innocent bystanders and the sort. You're not weak at all. That's why you're worth siding with. You're big."

"Then you're a black knight."

He smiled. "You flatter me."

She sat up, then stood up in a streamlined motion. "Black knights are supposed to be crazy strong. Else their masters have no special use for them."

He made a wide shrug with his arms. "Well, I can't shoot lightning bolts like you."

"And you never will. That's just not you."

"What do you mean by it's not me?"

"I can manipulate electrical energy because I'm me, and 'me' is capable of it. You're you, and 'you' is not the thunderbolt."

"Is there a name for it? Your powers, I mean."

She shook her head. "Names tend to confuse far more than they clarify. Don't bother making them up, or seeking them out."

"Things need labels, it's indexing; an important efficiency for thought to function."

"But the only things that need _new_ labels are things that are new. It's an easy mistake to lean on extraneous labels, which are nothing but distractions."

"But your powers are new, no? Should they not have a new label?"

She shook her head. "Only as new as me. It exists because I exist. It's the way it is because I'm the way I am. I am called Zera. If my power requires a label, then the only appropriate label is mine; Zera."

"So it's an extension of yourself?"

She shook her head. "Too easily do you revert to cliches. It is not an extension of the self, but the exact opposite. Not something that changes you, but an anchor against that."

"Can it be learned?"

She looked straight at him. "Sure, but it takes thirty five years of discipline, at least. You'll want to get someone under contract to bring you food and water, because you'll be spending it all under a tree."

"That's... a joke?"

She smiled, "Yes, a joke."

He began pacing again. "So what's your plan regarding the KND? Are you gonna just let them come for you?"

"Our chess game is still on. There's a lot riding on it. It would be wrong of me to just quit the board."

"A chess game? With whom?"

"Abigail Lincoln. The one you call Number Five."

"Ah, her, so what are the stakes?"

"That's between me and her. You..." She slapped her own forehead. "There I go, making unfair assumptions about someone else." She started over. "I'd rather not tell you."

"That's fine."

She smiled. It was rare she encountered someone who didn't violate her comfort zone. "Do you want to be my black knight?"

"The tricky little horse head that starts between the bishop and the rook? That would suit me perfectly. What's it entail in the real world?"

"Like on the board, you'll be the barrier, the obstacle the opponent always notices last, if at all. A second knight could double the efficacy of this, but alas."

"The game is far along."

"Yes, I've lost most of my pieces." She started walking in a tight circle. "I suppose it couldn't be delayed."

"Eh, I'm sure we have time. Moonbase Zero is probably a mess of confusion right now."

"Yes, but she's still going to come for me, confusion at moonbase or not."

"Alone?"

"If I know her, as I'm sure I do, she's going to do some kind of call to arms."

"Right, she'll rally everyone ready to rock to roll out right away."

"So let's assume she's coming now. What's the status of your ship?"

"It's not technically mine, actually."

"What? But you're named the same."

"That's a coincidence. I actually stole it from the prototype hangar so I could fight Two's Blacknose on equal footing." "The Blacknose? Is that the ship that broke through the shell and sucked me out into space?"

"Yep."

"Why didn't you stop it?"

"I ran out of ammo, and the Four Winds is built for speed and delicate maneuvering, not ramming power. However, the ship is still in good order. I guess it'd work for making a getaway."

She smiled. "Or running decoy."

He returned her smile with a snide, crooked one. "That would only be a viable tactic if you had a force you could put in place to exploit the opening, which you don't."

"Eh, yeah, you're right. It's me against the KND now. You know, if you want to chicken out, go right ahead. I won't shoot you in the back or anything."

He frowned. "We've talked about this. Don't tell me what to do."

She smiled. "Fair enough. Here's what I want you to do..."

* * *

Number Two remained silent. They were all gathered around the table, discussing their course of action. The table was littered with papers, open computers, sidearms, and the odd bag of Cheetos.

They had just completed their headcount of volunteers. About fifty operatives answered Number Five's call. Now they were discussing their battle plan, and it reached roadblocks. After all, how did you go about fighting an enemy who could manipulate energy on a titanic scale, and control it just as easily? Number Five was silent, with her arms crossed and her head down. Numbers Sixty and Eighty Six, across the table from him, were whispering amongst themselves. Numbers Two and three, on his right, were watching Number Second-Born, who was at the foot of the table, draw out and describe a map of some sort.

He didn't pay attention to any of it. He felt a deep sense that this part of the discussion wasn't something he needed to hear. His attention, though not his eyes, was focused on Number Five. She spoke far less than anyone else at the table. That meant she was thinking. His normal flamboyant self had been set aside, he was aware of the threat their enemy posed. It surprised him. He had reached a level of seriousness he'd never embodied before.

Number Five had just briefed them on the adversary's abilities. The vivid account of her powers filled the strategy table with an air of passive cynicism. They would have just as good a chance against Father, and they were badly undermanned and under-equipped even for that. After she told them all about the adversary, she remained quiet in the discussion that followed. They talked, then they remained silent, then they started talking again. Every discussion became backed into a corner. Everyone was in a mood for the mission, but none of them had a solution to offer.

It was after several agonizingly long minutes of silence that Number Five looked up from her bent thinking position to face everybody at the table. "Are you guys ready to hear my plan?"

This sentence came to them as unorthodox. "What are we going to do? What can we do?" Said Number Eighty Six, voicing what was on the mind of everyone at the table.

Number Two slapped his hand on the table. "We listen!" He blurted out, looking Number Five's way.

She was looking down the rows at everybody's faces, waiting for an answer.

They all nodded, or shut their eyes, sagging in tandem, implying their answer to her query.

She leaned over the table. "All right, good. Here's what I need you to do..."

* * *

The wind changed. She remained still on the limestone peak on the island. The change came from the Four Winds taking off out of the jungle. Her last remaining piece aside from herself had its orders. The ship circled the island once before soaring upward. It disappeared into the distance, a disappearance followed by it's dying leftover sound that growled low-key through the open air. It all subsided, and the calm returned to the island. The waves, the evenhanded and civil rustling of the foliage caused by the wind.

The place could not be less peaceful.

Her battle was in its final stage, and the world refused to warn her of the coming storm. But she knew. She began to sing, humming a tune as the wind continued to blow lazily through.

Abruptly, her humming became harder, louder as the wind picked up speed. The rustling became violent, excited. She tapped her foot in reference to a song. The blue sky began to color itself more drab as clouds that had once rubbed against its borders invaded freely. To her, the sudden change in weather was enlivening. Its timing could not be more perfect. She raised her arms to the sky. "The talking heads that talk liberties. The monkeys learn to build machines." She sang as she separated her fingers, each one a prong to her hand.

The sky rumbled and rocked, and her fingers absorbed its energy, drawing it in, netting it and storing it. It came in too ethereal a form to be seen, nor even effect anything on its way, but it was a near unlimited source of power.

"They think they'll get to heaven... through the universe." They had come. It was a valid move; hard and fast.

But she was faster.

She warped several hundred feet up into the air, then looked down to see two ships fly under her, over the island. They lit it up with carpet bombing. She pointed the fingers of both her hands in the direction of the ships and fired on them. The bolts of electricity moved instantaneously, striking both ships. They didn't go down. A closer look revealed they were equipped with lightning rods. She smiled at this. "Good, great! Challenge me! Test me!" She warped to a higher altitude and levitated in place. More KND ships came into play, circling and spiraling around her. They were all armed with heavy weapons. "Be tangible, be a threat." She spread both her arms. "And feel your hope drain away as I crush you!" The sky darkened to an unnatural hue, and solidified pinwheels formed around her hands. Their light competed with the sun in brightness, and the Earth gave her more than enough energy to make two. It was uncomfortable, carrying that much energy at one time, but now it was being let out. The ships had weapons. They had a defense against her attacks, they had power.

She had more.

Draining from the moonbase took time to make a decent size energy wheel, but the atmosphere had no limit. Natural lightning struck the earth at an average rate of a hundred times per second.

Her solid energy wheels needed only a few seconds to become enormous. As she threw them both in opposite directions, the ships and their weapons and their defenses became irrelevant. They circled around her, shielding her from the ships' projectiles as they gained speed. Then they spiraled outward, moving with an acceleration that felt unnatural for objects of their size. They moved up and down, inward and outward from her position. When one of them hit a ship, its lightning rod didn't save it. The wheel tore right through it. The wheels altered their own trajectories to hit as many ships as possible. In a matter of seconds, every one of them was destroyed.

She willed the energy wheels to dissipate, and they did. They had served their purpose. With nothing left in the sky, she looked down at the island, and warped back to the limestone platform.

As she stood there, she felt a simultaneous sense of disappointment and anticipation. Was this really all there was? Was that all they could throw at her? No, she thought. There had to be something else; a plan B, a second wave, a coup D'grace. "Something!" She shouted out loud. This couldn't be all. It was too easy. There was too little. "I need more." She didn't return to the world to have it piss out on her. "There has to be something." Yes, there was definitely something more. It would happen when it was time for it to happen.

* * *

Number Five Stood still, balanced as she was elevated up. She looked at her rod, it had a device with a lens, the recommissioning device, taped to the end. She was brought up the cliff, and she disembarked, stepping naturally onto land. What lay before her was a long, winding staircase made of limestone. It was crowded in by thick tropical foliage. She looked to her left and right, noting her allies, the allies who brought her up the sheer cliff that surrounded the island. They were each very small and furry, capable of elevating her up only with top-notch teamwork. They receded down after she disembarked. They had done their part.

She looked ahead, and began to steadily walk up the staircase. She couldn't go too fast, as the timing had to be perfect.

As she advanced up the staircase, she saw a flying drone go low over her, toward the peak of the structure. It flew a white flag. Just in time, she thought. She could continue at this pace.

The staircase was reasonably wide, but it was still crowded and invaded upon by the jungle. It felt peaceful, disconnected from all noise and confusion. It felt like the kind of place one could go to discover things about themselves. After this, after all this was over, she thought, she would come back here.

But in the meantime... She looked up the staircase.

* * *

The flying drone flew a white flag, so she decided not to shoot it down. If it was a bomb, or some dirty trick, she could always warp to safety. She had no idea what Number Five stood to accomplish with this. If she wanted to surrender, she should have just come personally. The drone had a big screen and speakers. They obviously wanted to talk.

The drone touched down on the peak of the limestone platform, just in front of the stairs. She paced away from it as its screen turned on. The person on screen began talking immediately. "You've fought well, adversary. We've decided to parley in order to discuss our mutual-"

She wheeled around and shot the drone with a thunderbolt. The drone exploded into pieces. "Do you think I have the patience to hear that load of crap?" She shouted. All she cared to hear from an enemy was an admittance of defeat, and all implied subservience. If none of them did, she would destroy them. That was her universe of certainty, and she wouldn't break it for anyone.

Wait, she thought. There was No way Number Five would think negotiation would work. Therefore...

She walked over to the staircase, grinning intently.

* * *

Doom, fear, disaster, all of these things were felt. As the adversary came to the edge of the staircase. She saw her, and the plan was destroyed. Number Five looked at her recommissioning device. She was too far away, the plan wouldn't work at this distance. She saw the adversary smile in triumph. She had been discovered, beaten by the adversary's mere whim to look down the steps.

A few more seconds, thought Number Five, if only she'd had a few more seconds.

The adversary pointed a finger, and shot her with her thunderbolt.

Number Five brought up the butt end of the rod, which absorbed the shot. Wasting no time, she ran up the stairs. She had no idea how she would close the distance without being dispached. But she was well past the stage of ideas.

The adversary charged an entire hand, and shot five simultaneous bolts, one out of each finger.

Unfazed, Number Five continued to run up the steps, and the energy bolts went by and around her. Not one of them connected. Her own running speed amazed her. She had already closed the distance, and was face to face with the adversary. She thrusted the rod at the adversary's face. Number Two said it had to be at most fifteen centimeters away from her eyes to work.

The adversary caught the rod and pulled the head past her head. With her other hand, she grabbed Number Five by the shirt collar. The rod was dropped, it fell on the floor. The adversary easily held Number Five in the air with a single, outstretched arm. She brought her closer, bringing their faces close together. "Checkmate," she hissed.

"Yeah, checkmate." Said Number Five, as she took out her last Afoofa cartridge, rigged to explode. "For both of us!"

The adversary barely had time to produce a look of shock before she warped.

* * *

Number Five was left alone, with the bomb. She put it away, it wasn't even armed. The noise had died, and the island was finally at peace. She took out a phone. "Did it work?"

"Yes," replied Number Two.

"Great, have someone come pick me up. I want to talk to her myself."

"You got it."

She hung up. Her ride was coming. She bent down and picked up a tiny object. It was a pair of metal darts with thin wires soldered onto them. She had won. The KND had won. At last, she could relax. She spotted a KND ship that closed rapidly on her position. She waved it down, and it landed on the limestone platform. She came up to the side door, and opened it. The compartment inside was empty. She stepped up inside, and the ship took off as she closed the door behind her. As the ship flew over the ocean, she saw other KND ships sweeping the shores, picking up the hamsters that helped her up the cliff, and salvaging the ships destroyed by the adversary. The ship picked up altitude, going into space. It was headed for a much larger carrier ship. The small scamper docked with it, establishing an airlock. Number Five went up to the door to the cockpit. She tapped it a couple of times. "Thanks for the ride."

"Anytime," replied the pilot.

She went through the airlock into a large open room. In sync with the shape of the ship, the room was longer than it was wide, and the walls widened as they went up to the ceiling. Her unofficial command staff were already there. They were gathered around a large contraption, the centerpiece of which were two large, reinforced glass bulbs. Inside one of the the bulbs was the adversary, trapped.

Number Five came up to it. "Checkmate, my friend."

The adversary said nothing.

Number Five continued. "You can't escape from that prison. If you warp, it'll just take you to the other bulb, and if you warp again, you go back to bulb A." She began to pace in front of her. "Do you know what your biggest mistake was?"

"What makes you think I've made a mistake?"

"You lost the game. And you lost because," she put up a finger. "You gave away all the limitations of your powers. You can shoot lightning bolts, but you can only shoot one at a time to any real degree of accuracy. Without your focus to direct them, they go wherever they want."

The adversary didn't reply.

"You can turn into energy and warp, but." She turned on a heel and looked right at her. "You need to plan where you want your energy form to go. That means that not only do you have to plan where you want to go in advance, but when you were sucked in by an unexpected element; the wires, you didn't have any control until you came out the other end; the inside of that bulb. But your biggest mistake, the one you could have seen coming was..." She took out her bomb. "You got hung up on ascribing our battle to a chess game. So when I said it was checkmate for both of us, you seriously thought I was going to blow us both up. This allowed me to predict exactly when you would warp, which I needed to know in order to time sticking you with the wired darts. Too late, and you would have been gone, too soon, and you would have noticed them."

"And what's stopping me from overloading and destroying your cage? These bulbs can only expend so much energy at once before it's too much."

"Ha!" Interjected Number Two. "You'd need a steam turbine the size of a skyscraper to make enough juice."

"I'm getting to that." Said Number Five. "Of course, the energy you displayed in that dogfight earlier would be more than enough to destroy the bulb, but..." She clapped her hands together. "I saw you absorb electricity from the computers and electric conduits at the moonbase. This implies you have a finite supply of energy, and..." She spread her arms. "This ship is in space, there's no atmosphere for you to sponge energy from here."

The adversary was quiet for a moment before speaking. "I commend you, Abigail Lincoln. You considered every factor. I've been beaten. But there's one factor you didn't consider. Or at least, haven't mentioned."

"What's that?"

"In our final confrontation, if I had dispatched you from a distance, your plan wouldn't have worked. Do you realize what it is? That gave you the extra mile you needed?"

"No idea what you're talking about."

"I suppose it's fine if you don't see it. Perhaps you're not supposed to."

"So, our terms?"

"Of course, I'll set your friend free. But I have one final thing to say."

"Go ahead."

She shook her head. "I didn't make a mistake."

"You lost."

"Yes, but no matter which of us had lost, the youth of this world would have been the victors."

Number Five frowned. "Don't expect me to approve of your philosophy."

"If you had been unable to defeat me, my philosophy would have been necessary."

"...maybe."

"But it isn't. I know now that the world is in capable hands." She smiled, warmly, with a peace that could only come from complete knowledge, and the certainty that brings. "Don't screw up."

She made a singular exhale that hinted at laughter. "I won't."

The adversary got down on her knees, then collapsed on the bottom of the glass ball, her eyes closed.

Number Five turned and walked away. "Get her out of there."

"What?" said someone behind her.

She stopped. "She's Rachel again. Have her taken back to the moonbase and put wherever she normally sleeps. The adversary worked her body like a horse." She decided it would be inefficient to just throw orders out in the air. She turned around and looked at Number Sixty. "Patton, you handle that."

He nodded. "Sure thing."

"And post a couple of guards, make sure she isn't disturbed."

He nodded in understanding. "Say no more."

She looked at Number Second-Born, who was still among them. "And you."

"What do you need, boss?" He said.

"Come with me. There's something we need to discuss." She began walking again, into the airlock to the scamper that ferried her there. He followed right behind. She tapped the door to the cockpit. "Take me to moonbase. Main hangar."

"You got it." The ship uncoupled from the carrier and headed for the moon.

Number Five turned to Second-Born. "Everyone feels like the crises is over. I didn't want to dampen the mood by mentioning this in front of them."

"Numbuh Fore-Winds." She nodded. "Any word?"

"Nothing. He's pulled a disappearing act. I'll keep looking, though, press a few contacts and stuff."

"Can't we just use a DNA tracker?"

He shook his head. "I'm not sure when, but he pulled his file out of the code module."

"He decommissioned himself?"

"Yeah."

The ship reached the moon. It closed in on Moonbase Zero. Number Five thought for a moment. "All right. We're gonna cover this up. Have one of your specialists forge a record of his incarceration in the Arctic prison. And write up a confession confirming the adversary was a radical alter-ego implanted by Father, which has now been cured."

"That's a half-lie. Why do you want this?"

She crossed her arms. "It's easy to think of Rachel and the Adversary as the same person. If Numbuh Fore-Winds is still at large, someone might spread some stupid conspiracy rumors. We need to make sure everyone trusts her again. Everything she's been through, she doesn't deserve any crap from the bean counters."

"And if Numbuh Fore-Winds shows up on the radar?"

"Then he broke out. We incarcerate him 'again'."

He smiled with his top teeth. "Gotta hand it to ya. You really got the hang of this leader business."

She sighed with fatigue. "I'm only doing it 'till Rachel gets better, which I hope is only a couple days."

The ship entered the main hangar. Number Second-Born went to the door in advance. "Whatever you say, but until then, the code to the supreme leader's office is zero, four, five, one."

The ship set down on the hangar floor. Number five rubbed her hand over her face in a single, hard motion. "I really wish I didn't need to know that."

"It's a pretty awesome office. I think the secret bathroom is behind the shooting range."

"Wait, crap, the pilot." They both looked at the cockpit door. She opened it. "Hey, You need to pr-"

The pilot was a hamster. It sat on a chair heightened by a stack of books, with miniaturized piloting controls. A box was set up next to the seat with a speaker and a column of buttons with pre-baked responses written next to them. The hamster looked up at her, and perked its ears up.

"I.. can't believe this."

The hamster twisted its head, implying curious confusion.

"This whole time. A hamster!"

The hamster had no reply to that.

Number Five pinched the spot between her eyebrows. "Okay... thanks, that'll do. I won't be needing any more rides."

The hamster nodded.

* * *

"How long has it been?" She asked. Her eyes had not opened, she was so close to still being asleep that she didn't even hear her own words.

"You've been out for two and a half days." Answered a voice. It came to her in an abstract monotone, she couldn't tell who it was.

"I need to..." Two and a half days. Those words hit her like bludgeons. She had to get up and check on things. She started to sit up. Trying to open her eyes made them want to burn up, but she could still do the motion part of waking up. Another hand pushed her back down. "Just relax. Number Five's been taking care of things. They're not falling apart."

"Number Five?" She fell back onto her pillow. It felt nice. "Did she win?" She couldn't help asking. News was to come immediately, good and bad. It was a personal policy of hers.

"You're in control of your own body, aren't you?"

"Yeah, that's true, but how do you know that? I could be the other for all you know."

"Open your eyes."

She opened them. They didn't feel any burn. A girl stood over her, next to her bed. It was a face she had never seen before. The girl was the only thing she could see in the otherwise pitch dark space. They could be in the center of the earth, and she would not know. The girl was taller than her. Her brunette hair was all combed back, giving prominence to a thin, gold circlet that ornamented her bared forehead. She wore white robes with exaggeratedly wide sleeves and painstakingly symmetrical embroidery across its entire exterior. She looked like a princess from a dark fairy tale.

"You're... Zera."

Zera smiled. "And you're free again. This is the greatest possible outcome, to all of this."

"How did she beat you? I'm curious,"

"It couldn't have been done without her friends, but I see that as part of her strength."

"My plan was to have you impersonate me indefinitely, and lead the KND."

She sighed, and shook her head slowly. "I offered to remove your infection without taking over your body."

"Come on, you had fun, admit it."

She laughed. "Yes, I had a lot of fun. It's my nature to test people, and push them to their limits. Perhaps you knew that."

She turned her head to face straight up, closing her eyes. "If I couldn't even beat some stupid infection, then what would I do against something worse? If I had beaten it with your help, then I would have merely gotten lucky; counted on outside help that I couldn't count on coming again. The KND had me, but what would it do if some other disaster took me. What if nothing I did was enough?" She lifted her hand up, absently twiddling her fingers. "But with you set loose, the KND would have either you, or someone good enough to beat you. That was my intent."

"I think you sell yourself too short."

"It's not me I'm judging, but the KND. I knew it wouldn't have lasted if it rested on just one pillar. I had to see if it could handle a crises without me. I had to put it to the test." Her eyes still shut, she smiled. "I'm glad it passed."

"That it did." She turned around to leave. "I worked your body like a horse, I suggest a little more rest."

"Wait." She got out of bed. The floor was hard, clean and cold. She approached Zera, and tried to touch her. Her hand went through without resistance.

Zera turned her head back to look at her. "I don't really exist in the physical world. As soon as your half-sleep ends, I'll be gone.

She moved right up, and wrapped her arms around her in a hug. "Thank you, Zera, for everything."

"All I did was what came natural. You're... actually touching me."

In her state of half-sleep, she hugged tighter, feeling secure by her prescence. "If I had a big sister, and it was you, I'd be very happy with that."

Zera paused, not moving. After a minute, she brought her hand over the head of the shorter girl embracing her. She rested it in her hair, and scratched it gently by curling her fingers. "You're a great kid, a great person. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Especially not an adult." She took her shoulder, and moved her away so they could talk face to face. "Remember this. There is a small number of people, all throughout history who have changed the world. There's the leader, who protects people from other powers in the world so they can live their lives freely. The visionary, who gives to the world things it has never before seen or expected. The genius, who thirsts for knowledge, and brings us all closer to understanding the universe, evolving it from an enigma to a wonder. And the philanthropist, who, with charisma and compassion, saves thousands of lives that would otherwise have been lost. These people, are true, real life heroes. Now, Rachel." She ran her hand over her head, brushing her hair back. Their faces were very close. "None of these people, not one of them, got what they had from their parents, or any adult. A hero is always self-made, and everybody has it in them to become one. That's why I tell you, with certainty, this: Don't ever grow up."

She didn't reply, she looked up at her, taking it in.

"I need to leave, now. Good bye."

"Okay, good bye."

She faded away.

She was left alone in the pitch dark. "Goodbye... big sis." It wasn't true, but the way she acted after it was proposed was enough to make her feel that way, for a moment, at least.

Epilogue

She sat at a wooden table on a terrace overlooking the Cleveland suburbs. The tree imposed its foliage overhead, lending the outdoor platform an air of privacy. Sitting at the same table, across from her was Number Three Sixty Two. Her attention was focused on something on the table. She reached a hand over, and picked up a wooden piece, moving it along a carved out grid. She set it down with a sense of impact. "And that's checkmate."

Number Five looked over from enjoying the view, and saw that it was indeed checkmate. She snapped over to the table, looking at the board in genuine shock. She looked up at her opponent, who was smiling excitedly. "I don't get it, how did you beat me? I have more than twice the pieces remaining on the board."

She put a finger up. "I beat you because your king is in checkmate, and mine is not." Number Five frowned in thought, looking at the board. "I beat you at every angle, I had total advantage."

"You allowed me to impose my will on you. All of my offerings were too juicy to ignore, so you took them. I manipulated you, all so I could get that one good opening at your king. Once everything was set up, your options were limited enough that I could continually put you in check, and you would have to keep getting out of it, meaning you had not a single free turn. I was able to flush your king out, and then seal the deal with nothing left over."

She looked at the board for a bit, and then sagged, lifting her eyebrows haplessly. "You're really good."

Number Three Six Two got up from her seat. "Looks like you're not quite ready to take my place."

She got up in turn. "I did your job for two days. That's more than enough for me."

She checked her watch, then looked back at her. "I have to run." She took out a canister and handed it to Number Five. "Take this."

She caught it naturally. "What is it?"

"It's the details of sector V's next mission. I thought I'd deliver them myself, since we're having a social call."

"I'm glad you're getting out of that airtight metal monstrosity every once in a while. Tasting fresh air."

She walked away. "So am I."

She followed to see her off. "So what's the mission?"

"Fieldwork, of course. It's only been a few days since that battle, and your success rate since has been perfect."

"You're giving me and my team too much credit. Our missions haven't exactly been challenging."

"You handled the soda ring fiasco on the east coast. I honestly didn't think you'd sort it out in so little time."

She held up three fingers. "It took three phone calls. We didn't even need to deploy."

"And raiding that heavily guarded penal farm disguised as a summer camp?"

"That... actually took some doing. Do you remember every operation that happens around the world?"

"Oh, heavens no, but yours always stand out."

They reached the hangar of the treehouse, and had to navigate through a scattered mess of half-built planes and machinery. "Well don't play favorites or anything."

They came up to the ship she took there. She turned around, walking backwards into the door. "Don't worry, I'm going to work you to the bone." They waved each other farewell as the door shut.

The ship rose vertically, and then took off, flying into the distance. She heard Number Two come up to stand next to her. He was probably working on something when he saw them walk through his hangar. He spoke: "It's like she's completely back to normal."

"I do believe she is." Replied Number Five. "That battle is over. If we've all healed from it, that's good."

"I think..." he said. "I think we're all stronger from it."

end transmission

Acronyms:

B.L.A.C.K.N.O.S.E: Brashly Large Attack Craft Knicks Nothing Or Scraps Everything

F.O.U.R. W.I.N.D.S. Fleeting Occlusive Usher Realizes Weight In New Dimensional Strategy

M.E.G.A.D.O.H.D.O.H. Mechanized Equestrian Gargantua Accelerates Decommissioned Operative Hunting Driving On Hydraulics


End file.
